


The Water's Edge and the Harbour Town

by Bluehaven4220, ButterflyGhost



Category: due South
Genre: Case Fic, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Kidnapping, Single Parents, Starting Over, Teenage Parents, mentions and consequences of minor canonical character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8173694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluehaven4220/pseuds/Bluehaven4220, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: Follow twelve year old Abigail Fraser as she and her father set out from the Northwest Territories on an adventure that will change the way they see family, friendship, and each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Bluehaven4220's Author's Note: This story would not have been possible without ButterflyGhost. There are not enough words to describe just how thankful I am to her for everything she did in being co-author on this adventure that was almost nine months in the making. She is brilliant! Thank you so much. For everything. Truly.

 

The tourists come here in winter. For them it is an adventure; they never stay too long.

Their arrival is an adventure for us too, in many ways. The visitors come from all over the world and break the tedium and hardship of our lives. They come with their money, enrich our economy just as the skies fill with glory. We see its beauty every year as the North shines. But for all its beauty winter is relentless. The slow creep of the dark over the land, the black fist of the night which seems, at its worst, as though it will never let us go.  Sometimes in the long night, I wonder how we would survive without the visitors. They bring their own vivid excitement with them, and that injects some vigour in the frost. They make me think of places that I will never see.

They bring their own light with them, then go with the melting of the snow.

ooOoo

I keep looking at the land laid out in front of me. There's plenty of green trees and blue sky (except in the winter when there's a million centimetres of snow everywhere), our Buick one of the only trucks still in the parking lot. I hear Dad shuffling around in his office, making us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner because he's working late. There's not a lot to do around here, so when I don't have school I like to come to the office with Dad and sit at the door and watch the world go by. If there's a thunderstorm I'll sit by the window and watch the lightning flash across the sky. Sometimes I'll watch the other officers driving in and out on patrol, other times I'll draw what I see, but nothing is really interesting. 

  
It's just me and Dad. We live in a two bedroom house out in the middle of nowhere. We're about 15 kilometres from the nearest town, so when we have to go shopping for groceries and supplies we have to get the dogs hitched up. We don't drive all that much, Dad says gas is just too expensive, and the exercise is good for all of us.

So that’s what we do. We use the dog sled if we have to go anywhere, and even then it’s a long journey. And then, when he has to go out on patrol, I go to stay with my grandparents, because we don’t have anyone else out here. And whenever Dad drops me off, I’ve seen a look between my uncle and Dad, like they used to be friends, but now Uncle can barely stand to look at him, and I don’t know why. They never talk about it, they just stare at each other for a second and then Dad kisses me goodbye and says he’ll be back in a few days (he always is, unless it’s something really bad, but then he calls and tells me himself). But after that, I’ll sometimes see Uncle grinding his teeth and muttering in Inuktitut, something about Dad being a traitor and a terrible person. And when I ask him what he means, Uncle just says “Never mind, Abby, that’s for me to know.” And then I leave it alone because I don’t want to upset him.

The funny thing is, I don’t think Dad is a terrible person, because he’s kind and generous and he loves me. There’s always food on the table and in the cupboards, and he got me the glasses I needed so I could see at school. But there’s something different about Dad. It’s like he’s sad. And not just sometimes, but most of the time. He smiles, and he laughs when I tell funny stories, but it seems like when he looks at me, he gets even sadder. When I asked my grandmother about it, she said it was because I look so much like my mom that it breaks Dad’s heart.

ooOoo

I’ve been worried about Abigail for a while. I worry about all the children of course, but she is my primary concern. This year, in particular, has been hard on her. It may be because of her age - she is somewhere between being Daddy’s little girl and wanting to set off on her own. At twelve she is far too young to be a woman, and I pray she knows it. But I do understand that prepubescent impulse. The urge to fly twisted up with the fear of falling.

Nobody can fly here. This is not a bad thing. This is pure survival.  In the face of the elements, the community has no choice but to stand together. Yet Abigail does not feel completely of this community. Neither do I. We will always be the interlopers. I cannot fault people for their distrust - but I can regret it. It hurts my child.

When I was twelve myself I had no idea how young I was. Children never do recognize the vulnerability of youth. They think they are invincible. June and I had no thought of consequences, no thought of risk. We thought we were grown-ups because we did ‘grown up things.’

I have to remind myself that June was happy. She was happy in her life; she was happy in her death even. She got to hold our daughter in her arms.

I met June the first time my grandparents arrived here in Fort Norman, with our library. I was entranced and overwhelmed by the number of people. More than three hundred - an unthinkable number to my twelve-year-old mind. And within a week of arriving in this place, I had made friends - the first friends of my childhood: Innusiq and June. We did everything together, until June and I discovered more. And then - well.

June is not here any longer, and Innusiq is no longer a friend.

Perhaps I have no friends here, but I do know every single soul in this place. It feels, at times, as though I am their priest. They trust me with their secrets, but I am never welcomed in.

I stayed here for my daughter, but it has dawned on me over the years that she is as much an alien here as I am. I watch her, and fear for her, and wonder if I did the right thing.

Perhaps I should have moved south years ago.

ooOoo

I’ve never met my mom. Well - yes, I did. But only for about a minute and a half, right after I was born, so I don't remember much about it. Yeah, I shouldn't joke. It's not Mom's fault that she died the day I was born. I know her name, and what she looked like, but I don’t know very much about her. All I know is that her name was June, and my uncle Innusiq was her big brother.  He and Dad were best friends, but then when they found out I was coming, it stopped. Maybe it’s because both Mom and Dad were only sixteen. It’s not a good thing for sixteen-year-olds to be having babies- especially not when you’re a sixteen-year-old Inuit girl, and you get pregnant by a white boy. I’m not stupid; I know there’s more to it than that, but that’s all Uncle will tell me.

And I know this part sucks too, because when I go to school, the kids are terrible. I like learning, but I don’t like spending all my time in a place where I’m constantly going to be stared at for being different.  I already know I’m different, I don’t need it rubbed in my face.

Which is why I’m sitting in the front seat of the Buick and Dad is driving white-knuckled all the way home.  

“I can’t believe you were fighting at school, Abby,” he managed as we turn the corner toward the house.  It’s still too far away to see it. The roof is still just a small, flat point in the distance.  But there is a tree that we always pass on the way home with a bunch of shoes nailed to it, and I know that when we pass that tree, we’re still about five kilometres from home. It’s a neat landmark, though, and Dad has taught me to look over for unique landmarks when tracking or even just walking.

But it doesn’t really matter right now, especially with how furious I am, and he’s just quiet, still driving...

“Well, what did you expect me to do, Dad? She called me a half-breed!” I nearly yelled, throwing myself back against the seat and crossing my arms, staring out the window.

“I agree, that’s a terrible thing to say, but it still doesn’t justify you throwing the first punch.”

“Yes, it does!” I was really getting angry now. “I don’t care that my mom was Inuit, and you’re not, why should anybody else?” I flung my arm out and hit my fist against the window. “Why can’t we just move? If we were anywhere else, no one would give a shit that I’m half white.”

“What have I said about swearing?” Dad was so eerily calm, while I was getting more and more angry.

“I don’t fucking care!” I was shaking now. “I hate everything about this place, and I’m sure they wouldn’t be sorry to see the back of me either! Why the fuck should I bend over the table to try and fit in when it’s obviously not working? It hasn’t worked for the past twelve years, and it’s not going to work now. God, I hate this! I hate living here!”

In a strange way, I wanted him to get angry at me. I wanted him to yell, because if we were screaming at each other, things would be better. I wanted him to fight with me, so he could see just how much I was hurting, being up here without any friends, then maybe he’d understand why the other girl had hit my fist with her nose. So, to do that, I said the one thing that I knew would twist the knife.

“Why didn’t you just get rid of me?” I asked. “I know you and Mom were sixteen, but you didn’t have to keep me.”

Dad slammed his foot onto the brake pedal, lurching us forward.

“I would never have gotten rid of you,” he insisted. “Absolutely not. That was never an option, Abigail,” he grit his teeth and swallowed what I think was a lump in his throat. “Why would you ask something like that when you know the answer?”

“But I don’t know the answer,” I shook my head. “You get this look, sometimes, like it hurts to look at me. And Grandmother says that’s because I look like my mom.”

“Well, it’s true, you do look like your mother,” Dad nodded, leaning back against his own seat and covering his eyes with his hand like you do when you don’t have sunglasses, and you want to keep the sun out of your face. “But that is not the reason I kept you, honey.”

“Then why did you?”

There was a long silence like he was trying to figure out what he could tell me.

“It wasn’t up to me,” he quietly admitted, his fist resting against his mouth. “It wasn’t my place to tell your mother what to do, once she found out she was pregnant with you,” he bumped his fist against his mouth in restraint. “And she was so happy,” he chuckled and looked down at the steering wheel. “And when she told me, I would have fainted if I hadn’t been sitting down.” He looked over at me, as though he’d only just remembered I was still in the truck. “I couldn’t leave you,” he told me.

As touching as this was, my blood was still boiling. “I don’t believe you,” I scoffed. Deciding that if I didn’t get out of the truck, I’d probably jump out of my skin, I did just that. Got out of the truck that is - not jump out of my skin, though God, I wanted to. Instead, I opened the door and started walking.

I heard the truck start up again, and that was all the motivation I needed. Once I sensed he was close enough, I stuck my middle finger in the air and then took off running.

ooOoo

The change of the seasons are the least lovely times in many ways. In the cusp between light and dark the world is trampled with mud before the flowers bloom; in the cusp between spring and summer, the midges swarm like hail. When I was much younger, I would run from the cabin, skin exposed and came back bleeding every time. God knows why I did it. Perhaps to punish my grandparents; perhaps to punish myself.

Abigail never punished me before today. Over the years I have taught her every way I know of to remain safe, and she has listened. My first year from Depot I was sent out to rescue children missing in the snow. We got there too late. The little group had been skating on the river, and the ice had shattered beneath them like glass. I pulled out their blue bodies. Never have I known such fear. Only one girl amongst the four, her long black hair freezing to her face. She could have been my daughter.

Abigail. Her father’s joy.

My Abigail never ran before today.

ooOoo

It didn't take long for me to realize that the truck wasn’t behind me anymore. I didn’t even hear the engine. I pushed myself harder, ran harder. The air was so cold it was scalding in my lungs as I ran to the river. But as fast as I was, Dad was faster, and it wasn’t long before he caught up to me and grabbed onto my jacket, pulling me backward.

“Let me go!” I screamed, my voice echoing in the still air. “Let me go!” I twisted violently, bumping into his chest and sending us both flying down into the snow.

“You know I can’t do that, Abigail,” he whispered as we both got to our knees and he pulled me close.

Even though I was more angry than I ever thought I could be, it hit me that he had used my full name. When I was little, I must have been about six; he told me the story of what my name meant. Abigail, he said, was a name from the Hebrew Bible that meant “my father’s joy.” Having me made him happy, even though his heart was broken. No matter what I did, he’d always be proud that he was my Dad, and that he’d love me forever.

It still doesn’t change the fact that one of the girls in my class called me a half-breed, and I’d hit her because she deserved it. Dad had always taught me to treat everyone equally, no matter what, why didn’t I deserve the same?

I don’t know how long we stayed like that, kneeling in the snow.

  
ooOoo

She’s sobbing in my arms, and she’s so like her mother that it hurts. June only cried like this once. Not the day she knew she was pregnant - God, she was so happy then - but the day they told her she might lose our child. I squeeze Abigail to my heart and close my eyes. I know I need to get her home, to get her in the warm - both of us - but my chest aches so much I can hardly breathe. I hush her, and rock her, and feel tears squeeze between my eyelids. My poor girl, still so young for all she thinks she’s grown up. Not much younger than June and I were when she was born - so damn small. Both of us. All of us, tiny, living on the furthermost lip of the world. Sometimes I wonder how we can breathe. Sometimes I think we’ll both be crushed beneath the vast and narrow sky.

“Hush, Abigail, Abby,” I whisper. “It will be alright, baby girl. It will be alright.”

I was always such a liar.

ooOoo

When I was finally all cried out, Dad picked me up and carried me back to the truck. He put me back in my seat and we drove home. At least I think that’s what happened. I woke up later in my bed still in my clothes, my boots and jacket nowhere to be seen. When I came out of my room, Dad was sitting on the couch in the living room, polishing his boots and staring at the fireplace.

“Daddy?” I murmured, brushing my hair out of my face.

He looked up and over at me, his wedding ring just visible under the cloth he was using. “Hey honey,” he smiled at me. “Are you feeling any better?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed, sitting down beside him and laying my head against his shoulder.  He put his boots and rag down on the newspaper on the floor and pulled me to him for a cuddle. “I’m sorry for flipping you off earlier.”

He bent his head over mine and kissed my hair.

“But I’m not sorry for throwing the first punch,” I continued, softly.

He didn’t say anything to that. “You know I don’t approve of you fighting,” he changed the subject. “Although I understand why you did, because you’re absolutely right. No one deserves to be called a half-breed. I’m sorry that happened to you, Abigail.”

We sat together in silence for a long time, watching the fireplace, the flames crackling and hissing. Dad was running his hand up and down my arm, which I found quite soothing. I liked sitting here with him, even if it was sometimes unbearably quiet. I saw him make a fist and turn his head away for a second, as though he were thinking about something terribly important, and when I looked again, I saw the tiniest glimpse of his gold wedding band.

“Why do you still wear your ring?” I whispered, hoping that he’d ignore me.

ooOoo

I always knew that one day she would ask me.

“Why do you still wear your ring?” Her voice was very little. I think she must have been holding onto that question for years. God knows, it was not the first time people had asked me that. It started at Depot, usually with laughter, until they heard I was a widower at sixteen.

“Why did you marry so young?” I remember Steve asking me when he heard.

“Why do you think?” I snapped at him. This man could, in another world, have been my friend, but with that question he had positioned himself so far from me that I could barely stand to look at him. “Because I loved her.” Because she was the mother of my child.

But the deeper truth, the one I hid from myself even, that came out only when I lay down in my bed, was that maybe I hadn’t loved her. We were so young.  How could I possibly know? We entered into marriage like children playing house. Did I love her? Did she love me?

I liked her. I could have grown to love her. She was beautiful, and funny, and kind.

And she is forever sixteen years and three months old.

Abigail was looking up at me, hoping for an answer to her question - or maybe hoping I wouldn’t answer it at all. I looked at my wedding ring and sighed. The ring that June had slid onto my blunt ring finger, trying not to giggle, so much happiness in her eyes. I had slid the companion to that ring onto her own slender finger. Her hands were rough with work, gutting fish and chopping wood, but they were beautiful. Her best school friend had rubbed homemade hand cream with eucalyptus onto them that morning, and painted her nails. The gold band had glinted against her lovely skin, and I had raised her knuckles to my kiss.

Abigail’s question echoed in my head. ‘Why do you still wear your ring?”

ooOoo

He looked from me to his left hand and sighed.

“Because June was your mother,” he answered. “And as soon as I found out she was pregnant with you, I wanted to do the right thing.”

I nodded. I knew this part of the story; that they got married because of me, because no sixteen year old knows their mind well enough to get married for any other reason than “Oops, there’s a baby.”

“But you didn’t have to,” I pressed. “Couldn’t you have just lived together instead?”

“I suppose that could have been an option,” Dad looked contemplative at that moment. “But with my grandparents being as they were, your mother and I simply living together would have been considered a sin.”

“Why? Wasn’t it simply a case of ‘stuff happens?’” I asked. “After all, didn’t Mom say no at first?”

“Yes she did,” Dad chuckled slightly, running his finger through my hair, playing with the strands. “She thought I was being unnecessarily chivalrous and old fashioned, but she found my attempts charming.” Dad ducked his head in an embarrassed smile. “So, after about a month, she accepted and we decided to get married.”

I knew this part too. It was nice to think that my parents didn’t hate each other. They were simply two young people who tried to make it work under very stressful conditions and an entire community waiting for them to fail.

“Everyone was against it,” Dad had turned pensive, as though he was remembering something very difficult. “Your uncle, your grandfather. Actually…” Dad paused and rubbed his eyebrow, chuckling once. “My father stopped speaking to me for quite a while when he found out June was with child, and that I was going to be a father.”

"Is that why Granddad doesn't come around to see us much?" I bit my lip and swallowed, my throat dry. "I mean, I know you and Granddad Bob talk sometimes, but is it my fault that...."

"It is _not_ your fault!" Dad's voice sharpened. For a moment he looked angry, but I don't think it was with me. “We hadn’t exactly had the closest of relationships anyway, even before your arrival.” He took a breath, and blew it out. "But yes. Yes, we speak now,” Dad nodded, pulling back a bit to look at me. “Although it took him quite a few years to forgive me, especially when I went to Depot and asked your grandparents to look after you while I was there.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I don’t think you would, you weren’t even two years old.” Dad answered, rubbing his eyebrow again. “Of course your grandmother Rebecca was thrilled. She’d have a part of her daughter back, and her granddaughter would be under her roof for as long as I allowed it.”

“She didn’t try to take me away from you?”

Dad’s brow knitted. “Where did you get an idea like that?”

ooOoo

Where on earth did my little girl get the notion that her Grandmother wanted to take her away from me? At first I was puzzled, then a little flair of fear hit me. What if Abigail was right? What if her mother’s family _had_ wanted to take her from me? What if they still wanted...?

No. Even if they did, Abigail wouldn’t go. And Rebecca – she would never do that to us. She knew how much Abigail loved me, in spite of everything.

Still. The thought, once planted, wormed in.

I covered my anxiety. “I don’t know.” I made my voice and body language as casual and relaxed as possible.

“Maybe it was a dream,” Abigail looked puzzled. “Or Grandmother said something when Uncle started growling about you.”

Maybe Innusiq was the one who said something. I knew for certain that he wanted to take Abigail away from me. He had never forgiven me for killing his sister. He never, ever would. I didn’t blame him. If I had a sister, and someone had hurt her thus I would never forgive them either.

“Yes, well, there’s nothing I can do to stop your uncle saying what he feels about me.” I bit my lip, then released it. Abigail was perceptive – I didn’t want to give anything away, certainly not my fear.  “But the answer is no, your grandmother never has and never will attempt to take you from me.” Despite myself I reached out and hugged her. _Nobody is going to take her from me,_ I thought fiercely. _Nobody._

ooOoo

“When your mother died,” he continued, holding me close, “because we were married, the Elders agreed that I would be the one to raise you, but your grandparents were to be involved as well.”

“You always said you couldn’t do it alone,” I nodded.

“That’s correct,” Dad answered. “Nobody can, or should raise a child alone,” he mused. “Who wants their child to be that lonely?” He blinked, as though he’d been thinking aloud, and smiled at me, apologetically. “And that’s also why we’re still here,” he admitted. “I don’t want you to lose contact with your mother’s side of the family. They are good for you, and you for them.”     

I sat up and grabbed a blanket, wrapping myself in it and lying back down. I could see nothing was going to be gained by saying anything else, because he was right. Right about my mom’s side of the family being good for me. I liked going to visit Grandmother when Dad had to go out on patrol, but sometimes I wish Dad would take a desk job. I always get so worried; that one day I’ll wake up and his boss will be at Grandmother’s door to tell me he won’t be coming home. And that scares me to death. By being in the North, even though he’s lived here all his life, there’s always the possibility that he could die.

Sorry, I’m being a bit morbid. But it’s true. I know Granddad Bob left Dad to be raised by Great-Grandmother Martha and Great-Granddad George (when I was really little I called them Gigi and Papa), because Grandma died when Dad was six. I may be older than that, but I don’t want the same thing to happen.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Abby?” Dad ran his fingers through my hair again. I remember I’d fall asleep whenever he did that.

“Do you stay up here because of me?”

His hand stilled, as though he’d been turned to stone. “What do you mean?”

“If I wasn’t here, if you didn’t have me,” I pressed my back into the couch. “Would you have stayed here?”

He didn't answer right away. As far as I knew, he had only gone as far as Depot. The rest of the time, he had come back to the Territories because that's where I was.

ooOoo

“What are you really asking me, Abby?”

Her face was tight and pleading. "Can we move?" Her breath rushed out in a gush, as though she hadn't even known she was holding it. "Whatever it is that was working before, when I was very little, it's not working anymore. Every day I have to live with the fact that my Dad's white, and therefore I'm the outsider."

I know how she feels. I never remember a time when I wasn't the outsider. Perhaps when I was very little, before my mother died. But that was so long ago that I barely remember her. After that I was the interloper in my grandparents’ lives, the son my father could hardly bear to see.

"Being called a half-breed isn't the worst of it. It's lonely up here."

Yes. Yes it is. Lonely.

"There are maybe twenty kids in my year, and they all think they know everything about me from gossip, and no matter how hard I try to ignore it, they pick at me and pick at me and I’m tired of it.”

What could I say? Yes, her belief that life would be ‘better’ elsewhere was naive. Here she is an outsider because of my blood. Yet in other parts of Canada it would be her native heritage that marked her out. She will never find the acceptance she seeks until she finds it in herself.

And yet... I know exactly what she means. I had lived her childhood myself. It's not like this was news to me.

I had so hoped that it would be different for her. After all, her grandparents were not white missionary librarians, viewed by the community with distrust. My grandparents had been good people - brave people. But the fervour that sent them to China never left them. And people - well. Nobody responds well to outsiders coming in and trying to save their soul. Even I hadn't responded well to it, and I was their grandson.

I had hoped that keeping Abigail near her mother's family would keep her heritage strong. My ancestors have done enough damage to the Inuit without me being yet another white man taking a child away from them.

Yet, Abigail is my child too. And while she does know where she comes from, and she does take pride in her language, her stories, her songs, she is desperate to see more of the world than Fort Norman.

Don't I owe that to her? If I take her now, am I stealing her from her family, am I breaking her connection with the land? Or am I offering her the chance I never had? The chance to see the bigger world, and then through seeing that finally know where her home is?

I love this land, but I hate it too. I would never have learned to hate my home if it hadn’t been a prison. If I had, just once, seen another sky.

She deserves that chance.

But I don't know how to say it. I sit there silent and bow my head.

ooOoo

There was a tired look in his eyes, as though he hadn’t slept the night before. Actually, now that I think about it, Dad really was looking more tired lately.

He sat silent with his head bowed. I paused, praying he’d hear what I was saying. _Please, Daddy..._ As if he heard what I was thinking, he nodded, once. I breathed a sigh of relief and continued.

“But just because they’ve only called me names doesn’t mean something worse couldn’t happen,” I continued. “I want a chance at a normal life. I want to go to school where there are more than twenty people and I don’t have to see them every day and know that they’re talking about me behind my back. I want to make new friends and go swimming just because they invited me. I want to be able to walk down the street without people pitying me. ‘Oh, there’s the white Mountie’s daughter. Poor girl, not having a mother. Why doesn’t her father just remarry?’ As though my life is ruined because my daddy is white.”

“Abby,” he shook his head. “What makes you think that other places would be any more enlightened than where we are? How would you feel if we moved further South, and people didn’t condemn you for having a white father, but for having an Inuit mother?”

“You can’t know they’d be like that,” I insisted.

He shook his head. “I have a fairly good idea.” His voice was dry. “I’ve never been anywhere much, but I do know people. There is no point in running from somewhere to somewhere and expecting things to be different.”

I could feel my lip starting to tremble.

“Why can’t they be different?” My voice sounded pouty and childlike to me. Dad looked at me with kind, sad eyes. “The whole world isn’t like this,” I insisted.

“No,” he allowed. “But the rest of the world isn’t perfect either. You have a very innocent view of…” He paused, and looked ashamed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you.”

“It isn’t fair, Dad,” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Remember when you were tracking that bank robber?”

I saw him flinch. “Yes,” he bit out.

“And there was that bad storm that blew in, and you couldn’t send word to Grandmother and I for days. Daddy, I was so scared you were dead.”

He jerked. I’d never told him about that.

ooOoo

“Daddy, I was so scared you were dead.”

In all the years since Victoria, I never thought I could feel more shame than I already did. And yet – now I do. How could I not have known this thing about my daughter? Of course Abigail was scared. Of course she thought I might die – she had lived with death since her birth.

I was bone-tired when I came in out of that storm. My memory of the whole business is so vivid and bitter that even when I think back on it my muscles ache. I remember everything. Abby running to me, flinging her arms around my  knees, hugging me like she never wanted to let me go.

In that moment I was my father’s son. Yes, I picked her up, hugged her. I remember how her breath on my cheek stung warmth back into me. I remember telling her that all was well.

But like my father, I was blind. I didn’t see her fear; I chose not to.

She looks up at me now, all these years after Fortitude Pass, and she is saying: “they could send you out in a storm like that and you’d never come back.”

A chill crawls up my spine. Was that what I wanted? I will never forget that storm, how much I wished not to survive it.

Oh, Abigail. I try to smile at her, but my face is cold again, as it was in that long ago winter. The attempt feels false and my cheeks are stiff.  She can always see through my pretences, so I abandon the smile and sigh.

“I’m sorry, Abigail.” I reach out and stroke a stray strand of hair from her face. “I didn’t know.”

ooOoo

Everybody knew how bad that storm was. I remember how we all gathered together in the church, to pool resources – not just food – heat even. The storm was that bad. I remember looking out the church window, and the whole world was gone. I’d seen storms before, but never one like this – nothing but white. Everything swallowed up into nothing, and my Daddy out there. I had known, absolutely, that he was not coming back.

I just couldn't figure out how to tell him - yes, I could manage the words, but there was no way I could make him _feel_ how terrified I’d been. All I could say was that ”Grandmother nearly tore a strip off of… I forget his name, but your commanding officer, asking him why he would have ever let you go out in such bad weather when they knew I was waiting at home for you.”

Dad smiled, just a bit. “Yes, I can imagine Rebecca wasn’t very pleased with him.”

“No,” I smiled back, picking at my fingernails. “I don’t think I’d ever seen her so angry.” Dad pulled me to him and kissed my hair again. He did that a lot, especially when he knew I might be getting upset.

“We were all in the church.  And when you came in the door all covered in snow, and I remember you had ice on your coat too …” my shoulders heaved and I choked on a sob. “But I don’t remember anything else. Just that you were home and whoever you’d arrested was with another officer. I remember I jumped into your arms and you picked me up and held me so tight, because all I could do was cry. You could have _died,_ Daddy.  And if we stay up here, they could do that again. They could send you out in a storm like that and you’d never come back.”

He wrapped both arms around me and pulled me close, not saying a word.

“Granddad Bob said I’m a lot like you.”

“In what sense?” he asked, picking up on how quickly I’d changed the subject.

“I don’t make friends easily, and he says you don’t either. Never have.”

“Well he was correct in that regard.” He paused, and looked off into the distance. “How about this…” he took a deep breath.  “If it really means that much to you, can you wait until after Christmas?”

My heart jumped with excitement. Even so, I couldn’t trust my luck. Dad might be saying it to placate me, hoping I’d forget about it by then. He’d never lied to me but...

“Why Christmas?”

“So there is enough time to put in a transfer request, and find an apartment, and another school for you.” He leaned over and kissed my hair. “And to speak with your grandparents. They should have input as well.”

“But why? They won’t be living with us.”

“No, but they have helped me raise you when they could have just as easily cast us out, and then where would we be?” he explained. “They did a very generous thing, despite their reservations about having a grandchild when they did. They deserve to have input as well.”

I couldn’t argue with that. Well, I could, but I just didn’t have the energy. I was exhausted from earlier, and what Dad was saying made sense. Grandmother and Grandfather deserved equal consideration.

I waited on the couch as Dad went to the kitchen to call them and ask them to come to dinner. That was unusual in itself. If anything, I went over there alone and Dad would always come to pick me up, or we would go over there together and Dad and Uncle would stare at each other in between bites of the food on their plates. If we were inviting Grandmother and Grandfather over, were we not going to tell Uncle about it?

“I will invite your uncle as well,” Dad assured me, as though he’d been reading my mind. “I know you’ve had a very tough day. It might help you feel better, to see everyone.”

“Okay,” I answered, suddenly very nervous. I folded the blanket around myself tightly, making sure I was completely covered.

You can’t imagine my relief when they said they wouldn’t be able to come over until the next Friday. It bought me time to sort out my thoughts, and believe me, I needed it.

ooOoo

When I was seven, I woke once and saw a figure standing in the doorway, watching me. I screamed myself hoarse, before I realized that the figure was, in fact, my grandmother. She sat on the edge of my bed and wrapped her arms around me. She wasn’t my mother, but - well. She loved me. Years later, now that I have a child of my own, I understand the impulse to watch over her while she sleeps. I wonder how often my grandmother checked in on me, after my mother died.

Of course, Abigail is nearly grown now. I don’t have to watch over her breathing for fear that she might die. Oh, we had to do that for the first few weeks. She was premature, and didn’t have the benefit of a mother’s milk. When she was eight days old a storm came in, cutting off supplies, and we thought we would run out of formula. Abigail thinks the storm that swept Victoria through my life was the worst she had ever seen. I’ve seen worse. God. I remember counting her formula down to the last grain. I would have cut my wrist for her if my blood could just have kept her alive. Even when Abby survived her first critical weeks, gaining weight, smiling, following us with her eyes - even then I expected every breath to be her last.

My Abigail keeps breathing. She’s indomitable.

But still. On a day like today I remember how terribly vulnerable she is. She ran off into the snow, with no care at all for her safety. I can’t imagine what I would do if she ran away for real. If I lost her, or even worse, if she lost herself.

I have a duty to her. Not just to love her, to provide for her, but to protect her. From whatever misery she carries within her as an outsider in this town. If I have to take her somewhere - take her south - then that is all there is to it. One day she will leave on her own terms. But for now, if she wants to see another horizon it is my job to take her there. Show her another sky.

I rest my hand gently on her hair, then sigh, and tuck the blankets in. My little girl.

I sit in the arm chair for a long time, and watch her breathe.

ooOoo

The following Friday night, I got home from school, and I must have fallen asleep almost immediately, because the next thing I knew, the smell of pasta sauce simmering on the stove was in the air, and I could hear water boiling. Dad was making one of my favourite dishes: spaghetti with meat sauce. It was simple, and easy, and something he knew everyone would eat, plus it smelled really _really_ good.

There was a knock on the door, and I untangled myself from the blanket and went to answer it.

“Hello Grandmother!” I greeted her, stepping aside and letting her in. I looked outside and saw that she had been the only one to come over. “Where are Grandfather and Uncle?”  

“ _Kunik_ , Abigail,” she answered, waiting as I pressed my nose to her cheek as she’d requested before continuing. “Your grandfather is not feeling well, and your uncle… well…” she trailed off as I took her parka and hung it up in the front hall closet.

“Dad, Grandmother’s here!” I called to him in the kitchen.

Dad came out to the front hall, drying his hands on a dish towel.  

“Ah, hello Rebecca,” he flung the dish towel over his shoulder and pressed his nose to her cheek, just as I had. “Lovely to see you.”

“And you, Ben,” she smiled at him. “All is well, I hope.”

“Oh yes, very well,” he answered a little too quickly. We wouldn’t tell her about the fight I’d gotten into, but maybe she already knew. “Thank you for coming over. We have something we’d like to discuss with you.” Dad cleared his throat and fidgeted - there went his thumb, stroking his eyebrow.

I cringed. He was obviously nervous - and Grandmother knew him far too well. We hadn't meant to talk about things yet - not heavy things anyway. But now she'd know something was up. And she wouldn't be happy until she had got it out of him.

Dad probably knew it too. Grandmother gave him a narrow look, then smiled.

“So formal, Benton,” Grandmother chastised. “Whatever it is can wait until after supper. Now, I’d like to visit with my beautiful granddaughter, whom I have not seen in a very long time.” she threw her arm around my shoulder and steered me back toward the living room.

Dad chuckled. “I’ll let you know when supper’s ready,” he turned back to the stove. “Rebecca, can I get you something to drink?”

“No thank you, Ben,” Rebecca answered. “Again, I am going to sit in the living room and talk with my granddaughter. And I will happily have a meal with you.”

“I’m glad you agreed to see us, Grandmother,” I smiled and sat down with her on the couch.

“I was very surprised to hear that there’s so many things happening,” she nodded. “You naughty girl, why don’t you come to see me as often as you did?”

“Well…” I looked over to the kitchen where Dad was draining the spaghetti. “Dad has been working close to home a lot more, and I know there’s a lot of tension between everyone at the house, so I thought it was best that I didn’t get in the middle.”

“What does that mean?” Grandmother looked confused for a moment. “You think I hate your father?” she leaned in and whispered in my ear.

“That’s not what I meant,” I backtracked. But really, I hadn’t meant that at all. I’d seen just how strained Dad and Uncle’s relationship was, and I knew it had something to do with the fact that I was alive.

“Because I do not hate him.” she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me tightly. “I have never hated him. He and your mother, while they did not make the smartest of decisions, gave me you.”

“You mean when they got married?”

“They got married because your father wanted to do the right thing,” Grandmother explained. “While it was not the smartest thing they could have done, I am very grateful to him for that. There are not very many people who would have stayed.” She glanced over at the kitchen to see Dad waiting in the door frame. “Is something the matter, Ben?”

“No, no,” Dad ran a thumb over his eyebrow. “Supper is ready if you are.”

Grandmother and I sat down at the table as Dad finished in the kitchen. When we were finally sitting together, it was very quiet, as though none of us knew how to approach the question that was hanging in the air. It was strange, I didn’t feel as though I should be nervous, yet I was. But I think it was maybe because I didn’t know how anyone would react to the news that I wanted to leave. They might ask why, and where I had gotten the idea. After all, I had never been out of the Territories before, and Dad had only left to go to Depot, surely my place was here? But then I remembered that maybe we weren’t going to be talking about that tonight. Maybe we’d all just enjoy each other’s company but we could say that the only topic we were not allowed to talk about was work. If someone said work, I don’t know if I can keep myself from blurting anything out.

“Are you alright, Abby? You seem very quiet.”

I poked at the food on my plate. Supper was very good. Grandmother had always told me that Dad had learned to cook to look after me. And he’d made my favourite meal - but I couldn’t taste it.  “I’m fine, Dad. Just thinking.”

“What are you thinking about?” Grandmother asked as she took a bite of pasta.

“What did you do when you found out my mom was pregnant?” That wasn’t precisely what I’d been thinking about, but we’d never talked about it, not really. All I ever knew was that after Dad and my mom had made the decision to keep me, that was that and nothing was going to change their minds

I heard Dad’s fork clank against his plate as he stopped chewing and stared at her, and I couldn’t help but notice the look he and Grandmother exchanged. It was a “tell her if you must” look, but Grandmother seemed to take it as permission.

“I’m afraid I was not at my best, Abigail,” she admitted, putting down her fork and folding her hands on the table. When she spoke again, it was in Inuktitut. It felt as though I was traveling back in time, listening to that long ago conversation. “When June first told me, she and your father were sitting across from us, and by us, I mean your Grandfather Henry and your Uncle Innusiq, and she simply said the words. She said 'I am with child, and Benton is the father.'”

I heard Dad clear his throat.

“I was furious,” Grandmother admitted. “There was a lot of shouting, and tears. Your father was banished from our home for quite a while.”

“How long?” I asked, looking at Dad, who was resting his elbow on the table, his head in his hand.

“Close to six weeks,” Dad interjected. “I was not allowed to… talk to… no, _contact_ your mother, let alone see her.” He was reciting the story now, as though the thought of once having been separated from my mother was too much to think about. “But, once everything had calmed down, she came to my grandparents’ house, where my grandparents let her in, woke me up, and proceeded to chastise us both for making such a rash mistake.”

Dad getting stuck on the word ‘contact’ made me remember that Inuktitut wasn’t his first language. But whenever we needed to have conversations like this, he always made an effort.

“Am I a mistake?” I asked.

“No,” Dad declared instantly. He didn’t even have to think about it. “No, Abigail, you are _not_ a mistake. You could never be a mistake. You simply came into our lives earlier than we anticipated.” He smiled at me.

That didn’t sound like something Dad would say at all.

“But if you’d waited, you wouldn’t have had me.”

“I would have had you later.”

“Then it wouldn’t have been me.”

“And maybe it would have been,” Dad was clearly not going to back down with this. “My point is, Abigail, that once we’d spoken to my grandparents, they told me that I had to make my own decision. If we were old enough to be going to bed together, we were old enough to accept the consequences.”

I wasn’t sure I needed to hear that.

“So, your father did the only thing he thought he should do, and asked June to marry him,” Grandmother saved us from another awkward silence.

“I know that, Grandmother,” I answered. “But what did you say to that?”

Grandmother didn’t say anything in response, and Dad had gone quiet as well. Whatever had been said, they weren’t willing to talk about it.

“Okay, I don’t need to know that part,” I shrugged. “Mom and Dad got married and Dad’s grandparents packed up their library, but Dad stayed here.” At least, that was what I understood, even if it had never been confirmed. “But what about when I was born?”

Dad closed his eyes and gripped the table. He looked like he was praying for strength. “That was a terrible night,” His voice was low and hoarse. “Your poor mother.”

“What do you mean?” I knew but I didn’t know. Nobody had ever told me exactly what happened, and before tonight I had never dared to ask.

“You know that she had a very difficult time, Abigail?” Grandmother answered.

I nodded. “Yes. Dad told me, but not how.” I shrugged. “Maybe my head was too big?”

“No sweetheart,” Dad shook his head. “Because your mother was so young, we had been told she might have a difficult time.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “By the time you were born, she’d lost too much blood,” Dad’s knuckles had turned white. “But she insisted on having you lie on her chest for a few minutes, just so you’d know who she was, because at that point…” his voice faded. “At that point she knew she was dying,” I could see Dad’s shoulders shaking with the strain. “And when she stopped breathing-” Dad’s throat clicked as he swallowed. “-when she stopped breathing, you started screaming louder than before, as though whatever life she’d had simply passed into you…”

I’d never known _this_ part of it.

“And when I held you, I couldn’t let you go. I had no idea how to care for you. That’s when Grandmother stepped in.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Grandmother looked like she was fighting tears of her own. “I looked at your father, all floppy hair and lanky body, and he looked so scared and lost, holding you,” she got up from her place at the table and went to put her arms around Dad’s shoulders. “And that was when I realized, for how upset and angry I was at the situation, there were two people in front of me who were both motherless.”

I saw Dad squeeze Grandmother’s hand in thanks.

“So, I took you both into my heart,” she rested her head against Dad’s before leaning down and pressing her nose to his cheek. Then she leaned away and whispered something in his ear.

“Thank you, Rebecca,” he told her, bowing his head and taking her hands in his, kissing them.

I couldn’t wait any longer at that point. I got up and rushed to the end of the table, and launched myself into Dad’s arms.  

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I sobbed into his shirt and he rocked me, Grandmother’s hand on his opposite shoulder.

“Sorry for what, Abigail?” he whispered, kissing my cheek.

“If it hadn’t been for me, you’d still have Mom.”

“Hey, hey,” Dad pulled himself back and made me look at him. “Don’t you _ever_ believe that, Abigail Caitriona Fraser,” he insisted, gripping my chin. He had used my complete name, now I knew he was serious. “If anyone is to blame for the fact that she’s not here, it’s me,” he spoke to both me and Grandmother, even though he didn’t break his gaze for a second. “I cannot imagine my life without you in it, Abby, and that is because your mother gave me the most precious gift.” He kissed my forehead and held me close.  

I felt tears welling again. “I love you, Daddy. And you, Grandmother.”

“I love you too, always will,” Dad answered, deciding that we were not going to be moving away from the table for quite a while. “Now, what do you say we read the next chapter of _Journey to the Centre of the Earth_?” we’d been reading a chapter a night, and Grandmother enjoyed those types of stories as well. Perhaps she’d like to stay for a little while?

“I would like that very much,” Grandmother answered as she sat down in the living room.

Supper forgotten, we settled down together and I read it slowly and deliberately, since Grandmother wasn’t familiar with the story itself. Once I’d done so, I asked Dad if I could be excused from washing dishes. He agreed, and I packed myself off to bed.

ooOoo

As soon as I heard Abby’s door click shut, Rebecca offered to help me clear the table, which I’d never been more thankful for. With everything Abby had told me, it had been a very trying week for both of us.

As we set to washing and drying dishes, Rebecca looked over at Abby’s door and nodded.

“She wants to leave,” Rebecca murmured.

I was so shocked I nearly dropped the plates I was putting back in the cupboard.

“You think I could not see it?” She smiled at me as she handed me the plate she had in her hands. “I am not blind, Ben. Abigail needs to see a bit more of the world. As beautiful and quiet as it is up here,” she picked up the cutlery I had just finished rinsing, “she needs adventure.”

“I'm not sure adventure is the right word,” I answered. “It would mean leaving everything and everyone she knows.”

“And who is to say that is such a bad thing?” Rebecca countered as she walked behind me and pulled open the cutlery drawer.

“Well for one thing, we’d be starting over completely,” I countered again. “We’d have no one, wherever we end up.”

“Ben, my dear, it doesn't necessarily mean that you'd be lost,” Rebecca smiled. “I've never known you to go gallivanting off in all directions when it comes to Abigail,” she dried her hands and pat my cheek. “Go, it will be good for both of you.”

“What about Henry?” I realize that it appears I was looking for excuses, but I really do want to be fair to everyone involved. As much as Rebecca and Henry and Innusiq love their granddaughter and niece, I know that Innusiq has no use for me, and Henry grudgingly put up with me, for all intents and purposes ignoring me unless it had something to do with Abigail. The only person to include me had been Rebecca. She had been instrumental in saving both Abigail and myself. If not for her, I might have walked off into the snow, leaving my daughter to the same life I’d had.

Under no circumstances would I let anybody know that.

Ever.  

Rebecca’s eyes softened and she patted my cheek again.

“You leave Henry and Innusiq to me,” she answered, gripping the side of my jaw with deft fingers. “In this case, while they are important to consider, _nothing_ is more important than making sure Abigail has a good life.”

I nodded. She was right, of course.

“I’ll speak to Gerrard in the morning,”  I agreed. Knowing him, he’d think I was crazy for wanting to transfer out.

Rebecca went up on her toes and kissed my cheek.

“You refer him to me if he refuses.”

We finished washing the dishes and sat together at the kitchen table, planning out how I should approach the meeting with Gerrard, when to speak with Abby’s teacher, and what we would do once we got to wherever it was we ended up. Finally, Rebecca assured me that there was nothing wrong with what I was going to do, in leaving Fort Norman and giving Abby the opportunity to see another part of the world.

Rebecca and I talked until we heard a snowmobile engine rumble outside the door. I went to the window and saw Innusiq sitting on the machine, waiting for Rebecca. Even if I had invited him, he’d never step foot in the house, especially if he knew Abigail was asleep. We’d tolerate each other in her presence for her sake, but other than that, we had nothing to do with one another, and not through lack of trying on my part.

I waited until Rebecca had gotten on the snowmobile before waving goodbye out the window. Innusiq just stared at me before turning around and riding away.

Once they were out of sight, I turned the lights off and shut the household down for the night.

ooOoo

I must be dreaming, because there is no way that I would walking by the river in my pajamas when it’s so cold outside, because that would just be stupidity at its finest.

_I can hear my boots crunching in the snow as I make my way through the trees toward someone sitting on a rock, a carving knife and a block of wood in their hands. I can’t see their face yet, since they have their back to me, but something tells me that I should go and sit with them._

_So I do. I walk up beside them and waited until they turned their head to look at me. She looks just like me, except she has darker hair, and she wore a gold wedding ring, same as Dad’s…_

_“Mom?”_

_She smiles at me and strokes my cheek, her touch feather light._

_“Hello, my beautiful Abigail,” she whispers._

_“What are you doing here?” my voice cracks as I put my hand over hers. I never knew just how gorgeous she was. She wears her hair long and loose down her back, tucked away out of her face. Her eyes are brown, almond shaped and crinkle at the edges when she smiles; there is a small gap between her upper left bicuspid teeth, same as me._

_“You tell me, sweetheart, this is your dream,” she answers. “Is there something troubling you?”_

_Even though I’ve never actually talked to her before and it should feel very very awkward, it doesn’t. We sit there talking for what seems like hours and hours, and I tell her the whole story. How the kids at school are terrible and constantly calling me half-breed and how I’m tired of it and all I want is to move away but if we do, I’m losing everything I know._

_“Abigail, if you want to go, you should go.”_

_“But that means leaving you.”_

_“You won’t be, because I’ll be here,” she lays her hand over my heart. “It’s okay to be scared but it’s okay to want to see more than Fort Norman.” Mom smiles, not breaking contact. “You and your father can both go. I’ll be alright.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Yes. really,” Mom nods. “I’m so proud of you, my darling. Go. Wherever you go, however you and your father end up living your lives, you can go knowing that I am  proud of you.”_

_I force myself to smile as she stares at me. “He still wears his wedding ring, you know.”_

_“Yes, I know,” Mom doesn’t seem at all surprised.  “He does not have to, but he does, and I am glad he does.”_

_“Did you love him?” I’d always wanted to ask her that. After all, I know they were only sixteen, and many sixteen year olds don’t know what love means, but I hope she did._

_“Yes I did,” she answered, not even pausing to think about it. “I loved your father very much. I still do.”_

_I let out a single sob. “Thank you. I needed to know that.”_

_She smiled in response and went to stand up when I reached for her hand. “Please don’t go yet, Mom. Please don’t.”_

_Mom then sat back down on the rock with me, cupping my face in her hands. “I will stay as long as you need me,” she answered._

_I leaned into her, and we watched the river run over the rocks._

ooOoo

I woke up the next morning to the smell of French toast and scrambled eggs. Eggs were extremely difficult to get in the north, never mind Fort Norman, so Dad cooking scrambled eggs meant something had to have happened. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he said as he poured himself a cup of coffee and an orange juice for me. “How are you doing?”

“Okay I guess,” I accepted the glass of juice and sat down. I took a sip and watched him very closely for close to a minute. “I dreamt of Mom last night.” I had switched to Inuktitut.

Dad stopped just as he set a plate of French toast in front of me. I could tell he was trying not to let his surprise show.

“Did you?” he asked, recognizing that I’d switched languages and doing the same. “Did she say anything?”

I cut into my French toast and chewed in order to buy myself some time.

“She said it’s okay for us to go,” I drank more juice and watched as Dad brought his own plate over to the table. “We had a very long talk.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Dad gave me a small smile. “You know, the whole reason your middle name is Caitriona is because she liked the name?”

“That’s it, no other reason?”

“Your name while she was pregnant was Caitriona,” Dad took a sip of coffee. “Whenever she spoke about you, she called you Caitriona. But when you were born, you did not look like a Caitriona. I named you Abigail but kept Caitriona for her sake.”

I hadn’t known that.

“What did you talk about?” he asked.

“Anything and everything,” I might as well be honest without giving too much away. There had been a few things that we’d talked about that I didn’t want him to know, and hopefully he’d understand. “But she did say that she’s proud of us.”

I saw Dad smile again, and this time it went all the way up to his eyes.

“I’m very glad you had a chance to talk to her,” Dad told me as he cut into his own French toast. “I’m certain that she would have loved to see the beautiful young lady you’ve grown into.”

“Do you ever talk to her?” I had always wondered about that.

A strange expression flitted across Dad’s features, too fast for me to identify. Sorrow? Pain? I don’t know. But his face went still. His eyes were far away and thoughtful.

“As often as I can,” he admitted. “Though there's not always an answer.”

I knew that feeling all too well. The one time I’d prayed, I’d asked why she’d left me. And she wasn’t the only one I’d asked, either. When I didn't get an answer, I’d decided I would never ask again, because it was too hard to talk about.

“I finally remember what she looks like,” I changed the subject. “Grandmother is right. I do look a lot like her.”

“Yes you do,” Dad agreed. “Though your hair is the same colour as mine, and you inherited my sense of humour, everything else comes from your mother.”

“I’m glad,” I blurted, and Dad looked at me in confusion. “Glad that I look like her, I mean. She was very beautiful.”

“As are you, honey,” Dad told me as I got off my chair and went to put my juice glass in the sink. “Did she say anything else?”

“Not really,” I figured fibbing in this instance would be okay, because there were some things I didn’t want Dad to know. “After a while we sat by the river and just watched the water running over the rocks, and she said she’d stay as long as I needed her to.”

I saw Dad smile, but it also looked like he was trying to keep himself from crying. “You mentioned that she gave you permission to go…”

I held my breath. Could I actually trust my luck? Was this actually happening?

“Your grandmother did as well,” he told me. “Last night after you went to bed, she told me it would be good for both of us to go and gave me her blessing.”

I couldn’t believe it.

“Since it’s Saturday, I will call Gerrard after breakfast and put in a transfer request.”

I ran from the sink straight into Dad’s arms.

“But you do realize, Abby, that we do not have a choice in where we’re assigned?” he reminded me, running his hand over my hair. “We could very well be staying in the Territories.”

“But can’t you ask for a specific city?” I prodded, squeezing him tightly.

“Not always,” he let me go and brought his own plate back into the kitchen, wrapping the top in plastic wrap and putting it in the fridge. Nothing was ever wasted; whatever we did not finish at breakfast, we’d simply eat later. “We go wherever we’re needed most.”

Well, it was better than nothing. I was just happy Dad had listened to me, and that something was going to change.

ooOoo

Of course, I couldn’t tell Abigail that I too had dreamt of her mother. It would have taken something away from her - made June’s visit less about her daughter and more about - well, all of us. I wanted Abby to have that special moment between mother and daughter that life had denied her.

But I dreamt of June last night. It doesn’t happen much anymore. After all, a man of twenty eight does not dream of a sixteen year old girl that way. I must have still been a teenager when I stopped having those dreams. I would wake up, my heart slamming in my chest thinking _‘dead. She’s still dead.’_ And any impulse my body had for comfort died with that knowledge. I wish I could have cried. It might have helped - but all I could think of when I dreamt of June back then was that I had been the one who set her death in motion.

The dream I had of June last night gave me no such grief, or confusion. She was sitting with her back to me, skipping pebbles across the river. The river should have been frozen at this time of year, and it should have been darker than it was. I knew these things. But I also knew that it was perfectly natural for the sun to shine, and the water to flow. The air and river were silver, and June’s hair was a silk tumble down her back. I walked up to her, my heart in my throat - happy, just so happy to see her. She turned her head and looked up at me with Abby’s eyes.

“Ben,” she said, and I sat beside her, staring.

“Hello, June,” I replied, because in my dream speech was easier than it is in the waking world. “It’s so odd. I haven’t… I don’t know what to say to you.” I admitted.

“Just say whatever you think is best,” she told me.

So I did. “I love you.” And it is strange that I could say that, when I am never really sure of it in the real world. But here, in the Borderlands, it was a simple truth. I am a man now, of course, and she is forever a girl. But she is forever my first love - perhaps the only love I will ever know. And she gave me my daughter.

“I know you do, silly.” She laughed, and patted my cheek.

I grinned, and my face ached. It seemed that I hadn’t smiled in a long time, though of course I have. I have smiled at many things - life doesn’t stop for the world because it stops for one person. But this smile - it felt like it started in the pit of my stomach, or lower even, that it flowed up through my feet, through my chest, out of the top of my head. Life was suddenly beautiful again, and I felt young.

June rolled her eyes at me. “You’re still young,” she stated, pragmatic as always. “And you think too much.”

“Why are you here?” I asked. In dreams, I have no manners.

“Why?” she teased. “Do you want me to go?”

“No,” I blurted out. “Can we just -” I stared out over the water. “Can we just sit here a while?”

She looked out with me, and leaned sideways against my arm.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll be here a while yet. I’m looking out for our daughter.”

I knew at the time that I was dreaming, because this whole space - the sun on the water, the light breeze, June – they were all such a comfort to me. “You’re looking after her?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “She’s of an age where she needs a mother’s guidance.”

“And you are her guide?”

“Yes.” She bumped my shoulder. “Yours too, for a while.”

“A while?”

“Until you can find your own way.”

“What then?” My heart stuttered. I didn’t want to let her go.

“Don’t worry,” she said, ignoring my question. “I’ll always be here. But you are allowed to grow. You’re allowed to let go.” She turned her face and smiled at me. “You know how much I loved you.”

“Yes,” I breathed. She bends her head, and I kissed her forehead. It’s chaste; I felt more like her brother now than her husband or her lover. But in the dream I still knew that I loved her.

I didn’t want to wake up. I didn’t want to forget.

“You won’t forget,” she told me. “You might not believe it, but you won’t forget.”

My eyes were stinging and I blinked. “You’re allowed to cry,” she pointed out.

“I, I can’t.” Not really. If I really started I’d never stop.

“It will be alright, Ben.” She patted my face and stood. All of a sudden she didn’t look like a teenage girl anymore but an elder. Not old, but unbearably wise. “Now, go, look after our daughter. She’ll tell you what to do.”

When I woke, my heart hurt, but it was a good hurt.

When I spoke to Abby, when she told me June had visited her too I was - not quite surprised. Just, moved. Profoundly moved.

 _It has to mean something,_ I thought. _‘Listen to our daughter,’_ June had told me. ‘ _She’ll tell you what to do.’_

So, when Abigail spoke I listened. And once I had listened I put in my transfer request.

My God. I put in for a transfer. Soon we will be moving and -

I have no idea what to expect.

ooOoo

Dad came home the day school finished for Christmas with a paper copy of the transfer request in a plain envelope. He looked exhausted, as though asking for something like a transfer had hurt. Then again, sometimes Dad would overthink things, and maybe this was one of those times.

“Does it say where we’re going?”

“Open it and see,” he offered, handing the envelope to me. I hooked my finger underneath the seal and ran it across the top, almost tearing the thing in half.

I took the paper out and scanned past all the official words that I understood but didn’t care about before seeing where they were sending us.

“Chicago?” I asked, absolutely confused. “But we’re Canadian! Why would they send us to the States?”

“There’s an opening at the Consulate, Abby,” he explained. “And Gerrard feels that I’d benefit from a drastic change of scenery.”

“You mean he doesn’t like that you’re asking for a transfer.” I may be twelve, but I’m not stupid. I can see what Gerrard is trying to do, and I think Dad does as well. “So he wants to send you to the most outrageous posting he can think of. Somewhere he thinks you’ll fall flat on your face so he can have the last laugh.”

Dad was silent, his elbow on the table. Then he grinned, sideways, and raised an amused glance. “Very astute, Abby.” He leaned his cheek on his fist. “You know what we’ll need to do then, don’t you?”

I smirked. “Make sure we don’t?”

“Well done, honey,” he pulled me to him and kissed my head.

ooOoo

By the time Christmas came around, Dad was good to his word. We drove from Fort Norman to Norman Wells (Grandmother came with us so she could drive Dad’s truck back to Fort Norman after we got on our plane), and caught the first of our 4 flights all the way to Chicago.

It took a really long time. I ended up sleeping for a lot of it, but Dad told me that we had to go from Norman Wells to Yellowknife, then from Yellowknife to Calgary, then Calgary to Toronto, and then finally from Toronto to Chicago. All in all, Dad said it would take almost a full 24 hours for us to get there, and we were going to be staying in a hotel until we found an apartment. Diefenbaker would have to stay in quarantine for two days, but he would be with us too. I knew there was no way Dad would leave Dief, and I didn’t want to leave him behind either.

We got Dief… well, I can’t say we really _got_ Dief from anywhere. I’d been walking home from school, and I’d been crying because the other kids had been picking on me again. They’d been pulling at my clothes and picking at my fingers trying to see if they could make the half-breed lose her temper. And as I was walking home, the little wolf puppy who grew up to be Dief had been following at my heels.

“Where’d you come from?” I asked as I sat down on the porch, realizing I’d forgotten my key and I had to wait. At least there it wasn’t horribly cold, and I could wait for a little while. Dad would be home soon anyway. “You’re cute, do you have a home?”

He barked once and promptly sat on my feet.

“I guess that means no,” I wiped my nose with the tissue I had in my pocket and scratched him behind his ears. “I can’t just leave you out here alone though. You’re too little.”

He barked again, a happy bark (at least I thought so at the time). And we sat together on the front porch, waiting until Dad pulled up in his truck.

“Who’s that, Abby?” he asked as he got out of the truck and noticed the puppy who had climbed into my lap.

“I don’t know, he followed me home,” I scratched the puppy behind the ears again and he wuffled in delight, reaching up and licking my face. “Can we keep him, Daddy? Please?”

Dad was in love with the puppy before we’d even got in the door, and besides, he reasoned, having another pet would be good for us, even if this little guy didn’t end up as a sled dog.

“Well then, does he have a name?” Dad asked as the puppy bounded inside before he even took a step in the house.

“I don’t think so, he doesn’t have a collar or a license,” I knelt down and felt around his neck. “Nope. He’s just nameless.”

“We can’t very well call him Nameless, especially if we want to keep him,” Dad said, bending down to look the newcomer in the face. “Hmm…” he studied the puppy’s face and tilted his head from side to side, Nameless following his every move. “You look like a Diefenbaker.”

Nameless barked.

Dad and I stared at each other. “Diefenbaker.” He repeated.

Nameless barked multiple times.

“Guess that settles it then,” Dad gave the newly named Diefenbaker a neck rub and stood up, but not before he got multiple nose kisses. “We’ll have to find you somewhere to sleep tonight, Diefenbaker.”

That night he moved in under my bed.

To think that was less than two years ago was astounding. As I said, there was no way we would leave Dief behind, even if none of us were very happy about him having to be in quarantine. By the time we got to the hotel, Dad and I were both exhausted, and fell asleep on the beds without even changing out of our clothes.

I woke up the next morning to the sun shining through the window and a lot of noise that I wasn’t used to. There were cars and voices and horns honking and people shuffling past on their way to work. It was new, and different, and I was excited.

And hungry. My stomach chose that moment to growl really loudly.

Dad was already awake, but he was always awake before me so that wasn’t a surprise. I heard the shower going as I stretched and rolled off the bed, landing just beside my backpack and went searching for my toothbrush. With only one bathroom, I decided there was no reason why I couldn’t at least start on my morning routine while standing in front of the hallway mirror. Dad never took more than ten minutes in the shower anyway, I could slip by him and use the sink in there when he was done.

Sure enough, he emerged from the bathroom already dressed in what I called his “comfy clothes”. He smirked at me with my toothbrush in my mouth and moved out of the way to let me into the bathroom.

“You know, Abby, I’ve lined up a few viewings for an apartment.” I could hear the humour in his voice. He was in a good mood, it seemed. Almost as hopeful as I was. “Since it’s Saturday, I think we should get some breakfast and then go meet the landlord at this first one, what do you think?”

I spit into the sink and rinsed my mouth out. “If we do that, can I have eggs and bacon and toast?”

“Of course.”

“And if we like one of these, can Dief still sleep in my room?”

“If he wants to, sure.”

“And once we move in, can we put a picture of Mom somewhere?” I splashed water on my face and reached for one of the towels that was folded on the counter.

He didn’t seem the least bit frazzled by that last request. He simply leaned on the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. “If you like,” he answered.

“I don’t think you’ve ever had one up in plain view,” I leaned on the bathroom counter and stared back at him. “And when I dreamt of her, I almost didn’t know who she was, even with all the pictures Grandmother showed me, she looked so different. Why don’t you keep a picture of her?”

“I do,” he answered. “It was and still is very painful to think of her, Abigail, so it’s not often out. I have a photo of her as she was, the two of us sitting side by side around a morning campfire.”

“Why have I never seen it?”

“You have,” he insisted. “It was by your bedside for a long time, your grandmother told me, and then one day you gave it back. As you got older, you didn’t need to see it as much.” We moved out of the bathroom corridor and back toward the beds, where my backpack containing fresh clothes was waiting. “I figured you would ask for it again when you were ready.”

I nodded. “Can I miss her even if I never knew her?”

“Abigail,” Dad sat down on the bed with me and pulled me close. “You’re the only person who knew what her heartbeat sounded like from the inside. Of course you can miss her, and when it hurts, I’ll be here just like I always have been.”

I hugged him quickly, my clothes hitting him on the thigh.

“Go get dressed, and then we’ll head out.”

I smiled, did as he asked, and within minutes we were on our way for breakfast. And let me tell you: eggs and bacon and toast with orange juice never tasted so good. As soon as we finished, we went to meet with a landlady named Ellen Schwartz, who showed us a really nice apartment not far from both the Consulate and where my new school would be. Not that I mind, really. There’s two bedrooms, so I’ll have some privacy, and Dief will be around too, so it’s not so bad.

As Mrs. Schwartz shows us around the apartment, there isn’t a thing that I don’t like about it. Well, maybe the fact that there’s no yard for Dief to play in is a bit of a sticking point, and the fact that we need to go to the basement to do laundry… but I don’t mind. There’s a great park across the street for Dief to run around, and it’s huge compared to where we lived up North. My room is the smaller of the two, but I don’t need much space. Plus I like Mrs. Schwartz, she seems like a very nice lady.

It was the first and last apartment we saw. Dad and I both liked it so much that we said we’d like to move in straight away, and the day after that he started work at the Consulate.

Since I wasn’t starting school for another few days, I went to the Consulate and had my own little desk in Dad’s office. I spent the day reading and analysing classical literature while Dad got settled in and finished a sentry duty shift. Just as he came back into his office, there was a knock at the front door.

I went to open the door as the knocking got louder and louder. I looked through the window to see who was knocking. It was some guy with a good suit and bad hair do. He was bouncing on his heels. When I opened the door, he saw me he flashed his badge.

“Hey kid. They must train ’em young up in Canada. Listen, is there a Constable Fraser here?”

“Constable Fraser?” I asked, resisting the urge to play him for all he was worth. “Dark hair, About six foot? I think so. Let me check.” I turned my head to look over my shoulder and called back toward Dad’s office. “Constable Fraser?”

Dad immediately came out of the office and met me at the door. “Yes Abby?”

“There’s someone at the door here for you. He flashed his badge.”

Dad suddenly went very very still, his slight smile gone. Perhaps he’d been waiting to hear from this cop and was a little wary. “Thank you, Abigail. Let me through, please,” he instructed.

I did, and when he stepped in front, the officer at the door introduced himself as Detective Ray Vecchio, Chicago PD.

“Please to meet you, Detective Vecchio, won’t you please come in?” Dad moved aside and Detective Vecchio stepped in the door and stared around the enormous building. He gave a low whistle.

"Wow," he said. "It's bigger on the inside." Dad looked flummoxed, and scratched his eyebrow.

"That would be an impossibility, Detective Vecchio -"

The other cop grinned. "You Canadians don't watch much TV, do you?"

I smirked and tried not to catch Dad's eye. Of course he knew what the detective was talking about. Fort Norman had its fair share of British tourists, and we'd all been introduced to the joys of Doctor Who. Dad was just playing the bumbling Canuck to keep me entertained. I tucked my tongue firmly in my cheek and suppressed my smile. Dad cleared his throat.

“My name is Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP, and this is my daughter, Abigail.”

“Yeah we just met. How’s it going?” he was about to move past me when he suddenly stopped and turned around, staring at me. “Wait, did you say she’s your daughter?”

“Yes I did,” Dad answered, closing the door behind him. “She’s here for a few days until school starts up again. Is that a problem?”

“No, why would that be a problem?” Ray shook his head. “When they said you were a family man, I didn’t expect her to be…”

“Twelve?” I cut in, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Twelve?” It was also as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Wow, you’re right. I _didn’t_ expect you to be twelve.” He looked at Dad again, and babbled on. “When the Lieutenant handed me your file and I saw you had a kid, I’d been expecting your kid to be a baby. I mean -” he laughed. “I saw your picture. You look about twelve yourself!”

Detective Vecchio was so over the top and outrageously startled I almost wanted to laugh. He was stumbling over his words, practically gabbling with embarrassment. It was true - the poor man really hadn’t been expecting me to be as old as I was, and now he couldn’t figure out how to pull his foot out of his mouth. I wasn’t really offended, although I almost expected him to be biting back a comment about my heritage. But then I realized, as a police officer, he shouldn’t care about such things.

“She’s certainly not an infant, Detective Vecchio,” Dad answered. “And she won’t bite if you talk to her.”

I did laugh at that one. Dad was on his best dry, humorous form. “I’m not feral, Dad. I don’t bite people.” I heard the humour in his voice and made sure to emphasize the word Dad, so Detective Vecchio could see that it really was the truth. “Um, do you mind if I go upstairs? I‘m guessing you have a lot to talk about and I probably shouldn’t hear it.”

“I can’t believe she’s your kid, Fraser.” I heard as they disappeared inside Dad’s office.

ooOoo

“First off, Detective Vecchio, welcome.”

“Yeah - Jeeze. I’m sorry if I got off to a bad start....”

I shook my head and sat on my desk, as near to a casual stance as I could manage. The man did need to be put at ease, and since he was here then we presumably had work to do. “Honestly, don’t worry about it.” I cleared my throat. Maintaining a casual stance was hard work.  “So,” I said as brightly as I could. “You said your Lieutenant gave you my file? Can I assume from this, Detective Vecchio, that you are my new partner?”

Detective Vecchio nodded, and stuck out a hand. “It’s Ray,” he said. “Jeeze, are all you Canadians so formal?” His voice was slightly mocking, but his smile was real, and his handshake steady and firm. A solid man in a crisis, I thought. Good to have at your back. “So,” he continued. “What am I supposed to call you? I can’t call you Fraser, sounds like I should snap off a salute.”

I couldn’t help smiling at the other man’s irrepressible snark. “Benton,” I said. His eyes widened and his eyebrows raised dramatically. Everything he did seemed rather dramatic, in fact.

“Benton?” he said. “Seriously, that’s a name?”

I could feel the corner of my mouth twitch. “Yes.”

“Do you even have a first name?”

“Yes,” I repeated. “Benton.”

He shook his head, dolefully. “I’ll just have to call you Benny,” he said.

Benny. I felt a little spark of familiarity at the name - the last person who had called me Benny was my mother. It felt impossibly intimate to be thus named by a stranger. Perhaps it was a good omen.

“Benny,” I agreed, then pointed at the file in his hand. “I see you have brought some notes. Have we been assigned a case?”

“Yeah,” his face became serious. “It’s about some missing women. Reckon I’ve got a lead on it - guy by the name of Carver. Only nobody believes me because he’s so -” his face closed up. “He’s so  _civilized.”_ He spat the last word out with such vitriol that I blinked, startled. “Sorry.” He scrubbed his face with his hand. “I’m just tired.”

I frowned. Now that he was not clowning around it was obvious that he was tired. “I can see that.” I made a conciliatory gesture, then pointed at the solitary chair in my office. “Please,” I said. “Make yourself comfortable.” He eyed the chair doubtfully, then looked around the room as though he had only just noticed how small it was.

“Uh,” he said. “That wouldn’t be....”

I rolled my eyes. He shrugged, and caved. As he sat in my chair I followed him around, and leaned over his shoulder as he opened the file. “What’s the Canadian connection?” I asked.

“The latest vic - well, I hope she’s not a vic, maybe she just went off to see family - but anyway. She’s a dual citizen.”

I nodded. He held up a picture of a pretty woman in her thirties. “This is her. Name of Helen Harris.” He sighed. “Hoping to find her before it’s too late.”

“There is no evidence of foul play,” I said, cautiously. “But it is being investigated as a missing person’s case,” I glanced at him for confirmation. He glared, irritation plain on his face. Perhaps he expected me to ignore his concerns. “But,” I added, hurriedly, before he decided I didn’t respect his gut instinct, “you are worried about her. You have a ... a hunch.”

“Yeah,” he said, relieved that I was taking him seriously. “A hunch. And my hunch is telling me that her boyfriend, this ‘Carver’ is behind it.”

“Okay. Talk me through.”

He nodded, all business, and did just that. Plain, thorough, and very convincing. By the time he had finished laying out his case I was as worried as he was.

“We’ll find her,” I said, with an idiotic conviction. There was, of course, no way in which I could promise such a thing.

He seemed to believe me though. I could see him relax in front of me, the stiff shoulders sagging. “Yeah,” he said. “Thanks, Benny. We’ll find her.”

ooOoo

Dad and his new partner had been holed up in his office for a couple of hours. Even though I had plenty of books and homework, I still got bored and came downstairs. I couldn’t wait till I got to school and had a chance to make some new friends. Or for Dief to arrive. Or for this Vecchio guy to finish talking to Dad so I could get something to eat.

I paused for a moment, wondering if I should just go knock on Dad’s door, when it opened. The American cop stepped out first, saw me, and grinned. “Hey, Abby,” he said. “You look about ready to eat a horse.”

“Oh, Lord, Abby.” Dad looked stricken. “I’m sorry - you know I left out sandwiches in the kitchen and....”

“It’s okay, Dad,” I stuck my tongue out. “I can actually feed myself.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “Ingrate.”

I laughed. “And besides, it’s not that late....”

The American cop looked at us, obviously amused. “I thought Canadians were polite - turns out you are just as rude as my family, but you use bigger words and sarcasm.” He shrugged. “And speaking of families... Benny, what do you say you and Abby come to my place for dinner tonight?”

Dad looked to me, as though he didn’t know what to say. He and Detective Vecchio had only been working together a couple of hours, and already he was calling Dad ‘Benny’ like they were old friends - which was nice. Dad didn’t really have any old friends - I guess Uncle Innusiq would have been a friend, but then Mom died. And the only other friend I’d heard of, Mark Smithbauer, went off to play hockey - couldn’t be bothered with us little league people. So - yeah, it was nice to hear someone talk to Dad so easily, just put a friendly offer out there. Besides, we didn’t know anyone, I hadn’t even started at school, so it was a very tempting offer.

“What do you think, Abby?” Dad asked. His face was so calm and carefully schooled that even I didn’t know what he was thinking. Was he glad to have made a friend? Did he trust Ray, or was he waiting for him to hurt him? Was he scared? I was always scared when kids were nice to me, because most of the time they were just setting me up for a fall. Ray wouldn’t do that - I could tell it already. Did Dad know that though? That he’d made a friend?

“I’d really like to.” I felt shy asking. “Go to dinner, I mean.” I glanced at Ray, then ducked my gaze away. “Is that okay, Dad?”

“What are you talking about okay?” Ray answered for him. “Sure it’s okay. I’ll call ahead and ask Ma to set out two extra plates. She always cooks enough to feed an army.” He smiled and led us out to the car. We drove along, Dad and Ray talking about some case they were working on, and I was staring out the window, watching all the trees and houses go by. Up North, we didn’t have the types of houses they did in Chicago. Everything here was oddly shaped and different sizes and colourful, whereas in Fort Norman we’d had white upon white upon white thanks to all the snow. The houses we have are so brightly coloured so people can see when it snows so hard you can’t see your face in front of you.

“Okay, we’re here,” Ray stopped the car in front of a red brick house that looked like three stories in one, like three families could live there at once. It looked too big.

As we went to the front door, I grabbed Dad’s hand and squeezed tightly. He squeezed back.

We came in the door to lots of yelling and shouting around the table, and a short woman who  Ray called Ma setting plates out on the table and more food in one sitting than I’d ever seen in a week. It smelled really good, though.

“Hello sweetheart,” the woman Ray called Ma (I would call her Mrs. Vecchio unless she told me otherwise). “What’s your name?”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “Abigail Fraser.”

“Oh, aren’t you adorable?” She set down a pan of… I’m not sure what it was, it almost looked like yellow pemmican, and lightly patted my cheek. “How old are you, Abigail?”

“Ma, don’t interrogate her,” Ray came to my rescue. “I mean, you get that she's not in a pram! Sorry, Abby.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s just that my Ma thinks every kid's adorable.'  

Ma rolled her own eyes at Ray. “Until they grow up,” she said. “Then they break your heart.” She said it affectionately though – it was obvious that this kind of thing was an old joke between them. Ray shook his head and introduced us properly.

“This is Benny, and as she said, she’s Abigail.”

Mrs. Vecchio smiled. “It’s nice to meet you both. Come in, sit down.”

“Thank you kindly, Mrs. Vecchio,” Dad answered as we stepped in the door to be greeted by a wall of noise. “Everything smells delightful.”

“Oh you’re too kind,” Mrs. Vecchio sat us down and got us glasses of water. “Now that I’ve met you, I’m really surprised. When Raimondo told me that you were coming for dinner and bringing your daughter, I didn’t expect that she would be as old as she is,” she searched Ben’s face. “You can’t be more than thirty yourself, young man.”

Dad bit his tongue and smiled quickly. “Twenty-eight. I was a young father, ma’am,” he answered as politely as he could. She just didn’t need to know _how_ young. Although I’m sure that if she counted backwards, she’d be able to figure it out.

All the adults at the table did, and I think Mrs. Vecchio was trying very hard not to look scandalized. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted anything stronger.” She changed the subject. “We don’t keep spirits in the house, but I’ve got some orange juice if you like, Abigail.”

“Oh, no thank you,” I stopped, surprised that she was addressing me. “Water is fine, Mrs. Vecchio.”

“Such manners,” she seemed shocked that I’d know how to say please and thank you. I kind of worried for a minute that she might be surprised because she didn't expect any better of me because I was a 'savage' - then I saw the way the other kids were running around and the penny dropped. In the Vecchio household the kids were practically swinging off the ceilings. So, yeah. She was probably just surprised I hadn't joined in the mayhem. “Now, I’m sure you must be hungry, Abigail. I’ve got spaghetti, salad, bread, there’s porchetta as well. What would you like, sweetheart?”

I flushed a little, overwhelmed with all the attention. The table was noisy and full of activity, and I was having a hard time with it. I was used to the quiet, where it was just Dad and I, and sometimes Grandmother. I swallowed and cleared my throat, and asked Mrs. Vecchio for a little bit of spaghetti and salad.

I poked at my plate, watching everyone as they shouted and pointed at each other.

“Are they always like this?” I heard Dad ask Ray.

“It’s okay, they only attack the ones they love,” Ray answered as he bit into a piece of… what had Mrs. Vecchio called it? Porchetta?

Dad nodded.

“So, uh, Abigail…” Ray’s sister, I think Mrs. Vecchio had called her Francesca, leaned across the table as I took a bite of the spaghetti. I think it had been made with beef, unlike when Dad made it; he always used caribou. This was still very nice though, just different. “Since you and your Dad just moved down here, when’s your mom coming?”

I knew at once what she was doing. She’d been making eyes at Dad all night - he was pretending not to notice, like he always did when the tourists went after him. I could tell it was making him uncomfortable - so could Ray. He’d barked at his sister a couple of times already.

Even though I knew what she was doing, it was too much. Moving to a new place and not knowing anyone, leaving everything I knew behind - yes, I’d asked it, but I hadn’t imagine it would be so noisy. Or that people would be so intrusive. ‘When’s your mom coming?’ I’d never lived anywhere where people didn’t know what had happened to my mother.

Ray’s sister carried on, oblivious. “I bet she’s real pretty if you take after her – though you look like your Dad as well.”

I choked on a bite of my food, then forced myself to swallow it and looking over at Dad. He’d gone as still as a statue.  Not his ‘people are flirting with me and I shall ignore them’ - that was almost funny sometimes. This was a totally different look. He looked like I felt. Shocked, and a little bit sick.

“May I please be excused?” I managed, staring at my lap.

“Of course, dear, are you alright?” Mrs. Vecchio asked, moving to get up. “Oh _bella_ , I hope this isn’t too much for you.” I think she might have been glaring at Francesca.

“No, um…” I couldn’t even get the words out. I needed to be outside, in the open air, away from everyone. “Excuse me…” I turned in such a way that I subtly squeezed Dad’s shoulder and went out the door, stunning everyone into silence.

ooOoo

My poor Abigail. I should have known that perhaps this was too much, too soon. Granted, I hadn’t known that Ray had such a loud, boisterous family. For someone who was used to the quiet, I can only imagine how tough it was on her.  It was tough enough on me.

“Excuse me, won’t you?” I wiped my mouth and put my napkin on my plate, going out the door after my daughter.

“What, what did I say?” Ray’s sister Francesca demanded.

Ray didn’t say anything in response as I closed the door behind me.

I found her on the porch as I thought I would, her knees tucked up and her arms folded, her face hidden.

“Abby?” I sat down beside her and waited. The silence was deafening.

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” She mumbled into her lap. “It was just too many people.”

“It’s not rude to need a bit of time to adjust,” Dad answered . “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t know Ray had such a big family.” I lean into him ] and he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “If you like, we can ask Ray to take us home in a few minutes.”

“No,I don’t want to interrupt. Can we just sit on the porch for a little while?”

ooOoo

So we did. And it didn’t take long before Ray came out and sat with us.  His shoulders were hunched, his hands shoved deep in his trouser pockets. He glanced at me, then winced and looked away before clearing his throat.

“Sorry about that, you two,” Ray grimaced and sat down beside us. “Sometimes Frannie’s mouth runs away on her, and that’s being nice about it.”

He looked at me again and must have seen that I was wiping my nose with my sleeve.

“Awh, jeeze. Here, Abby,” he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket (not many people still had those) and gave it to me.

“Dank you…” I blew my nose and folded it. Dad had once told me that the proper etiquette was to give it back, but Ray simply motioned for me to keep it.

“I don’t know how she didn’t see your wedding ring, Benny.” He shook his head, looking baffled. “It’s not as though you’re hiding it.” He spoke to Dad over my head. “Even Frannie should have guessed it’s likely a very touchy subject.”

She probably didn’t want to see it, I thought, sourly, though I had the good manners not to say it. I’d seen it before. People just threw themselves at my Dad. Made me sick.

“Not so much touchy as painful,” Dad responded to Ray’s comment for both of us, knowing that we would say the same thing. “Plus we were both a little overwhelmed.”

“Thank you for letting me come sit out here.” My voice didn’t sound so clogged up anymore. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Hey Abby, you weren’t rude,” Ray smiled at me. His eyes were kind and twinkly. I could see why Dad liked him.“You know what? I’ll get Ma to wrap up some of the leftovers for you guys, and then I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning and take you out for breakfast.”

I realized all of a sudden that Ray was just like his mother. If he wanted to look after someone he’d feed them to within an inch of his life. It made me smile – okay, so his sister was annoying as all hell, but he was a good guy. And apparently he wanted to look after us, which was nice in a whole new country.

“We have to go pick up Diefenbaker tomorrow morning, Ray, but thank you kindly for the offer.”

“So we pick him up after breakfast, no big deal.” Ray shrugged as I curled up against Dad, suddenly very cold. The wind had started to pick up, and I’d left my coat on the hangers inside. “Who’s Diefenbaker?”

“Our… dog,” I answered. Yes, the simplest explanation was the right one. We might scare him if we told him Dief was actually half wolf.

“Hey I love dogs, what’s not to like?” Ray squeezed my shoulder and got up. “I’ll ask Ma to wrap you up those leftovers.” He got up and made his way back into the house.

Dad and I sat together quietly until he came back out, this time with Frannie and Mrs. Vecchio in tow. I think my hurt must have shown on my face – she looked stricken. Good.

“Abby,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you’d lost your Ma, and –”

“Don’t worry about it,” I interjected, mainly to shut her up before she put her foot in her mouth again. I was beginning to feel sorry for her – she was obviously really embarrassed. And yeah, she deserved it, but then again – she hadn’t meant to be a bitch. So, I stuck my hand up in the air, and shook hers briskly. “No hard feelings.”

She looked relieved as she squeezed my hand. “Thanks, Abby. I’ll, uh –”

Ray rolled his eyes at her and jerked his head – a ‘get back in the house, Sis, before you embarrass us all.’ Frannie grasped her chance, eagerly.

“I’ll go start on the dishes.” She gave Dad an apologetic look. “Uhm – bye.”

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, was Hurricane Frannie.” Ray’s voice was wry, but his eyes were affectionate as he watched his sister go. His Ma tutted.

“That’s no way to talk about your sister, Raimondo.”

Dad cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the family’s back and forth. “That was very gracious of Francesca,” he said. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs Vecchio. I’m sure we’ll visit again.”

“Well, of course you will,” she said. “You never even had your dessert.”

“You ain’t lived if you haven’t had Ma’s homemade icecream,” Ray said, wistfully. “So yeah, you have to come again.”

I wasn’t too keen on the idea, but maybe I’d change my mind.

“It was lovely to meet you, Mrs Vecchio,” I said, getting to my feet and sticking out my hand again. She smiled at me – even though she was plump and little she smiled very like her son – and instead of shaking hands gave me a hug. “It was very nice to meet you too, Abby. Very nice to meet you both,” she smiled again at us as Dad stood back up. “And you are always welcome.”

“Thank you Mrs. Vecchio,” Dad let her kiss his cheek. She lingered there for a few moments, as though she were whispering something in his ear. “Yes, I will. Thank you kindly.” He said in response.

Ray, Dad, and I all got back into the car, and Ray, as promised, drove us back home. The only conversation we ended up having was what time Ray would pick us up for breakfast. And I think I heard the name “Carver” in there a few times as well.

I hadn’t really heard what they’d been discussing at the Consulate, but the name “Carver” had carried through the wall.

I’d made a point to remember to ask them about it the next morning, in case I needed to worry.

When Ray dropped us off, I went straight to bed and curled into a ball under the covers. I missed Fort Norman. It hit me again: for all the fuss I had made for wanting to leave, wanting to do it and actually doing it were two very different things. Plus, it was made harder by the fact that Dief was still in quarantine, and it was difficult for me to sleep without him in my room. And besides, Francesca’s question about Mom was still rattling around my head. She maybe  hadn’t meant any harm, and I’d said “no hard feelings.” And there weren’t, not really.  But still, she shouldn’t have been so nosy. And the question hurt. It still hurt.

Tossing and turning, I couldn’t get comfortable. I could still hear Dad puttering around the living room, folding the blanket on the air mattress we’d been sitting on until the couch we’d ordered could be delivered. The company had delivered our beds on time, but the couch hadn’t been ready. I got out of bed and went out to the living room.

“Dad? Can I sit out here with you?”

He smiled. “Of course, honey.”

I did, and I laid down, using his leg as a pillow.

“I miss home,” I confessed. “I know we’ve only been gone a few days, but I miss Grandmother and Grandfather, and the house.”

He ran his fingers through my hair. “That’s normal, Abigail. It takes a while to adjust to a new place, no matter how old you are.”

“It sucks being twelve,” I muttered as he massaged my scalp. “It just sucks.”

Usually I was more articulate, but “sucks” seemed to fit the way I was feeling.

“I remember,” Dad chuckled. Then, tentatively, he asked. “Is there something else?”

I had to say it. “I don’t like Francesca.” I blurted, alarmed by how that sounded coming out of my mouth. It was a very strange feeling; I thought I’d forgiven her.

Dad didn’t admonish me for that, instead said _hmm_. “Why not?”

“Because she’s _rude_ ,” I emphasized the word rude. “Poking in when it’s not her business.”

“To be fair, Abigail, she couldn’t have known about your mother,” Dad was very calm, and suddenly it felt very much like the argument we’d had in the truck up North. “Perhaps she thought she’d stayed up in Fort Norman and was meeting us down here.”

“But Ray said she didn’t even notice your ring,” I continued, squirming to find a more comfortable position. “Dad, she was trying to flirt with you, and she was trying to go through me to do it.”

“I don’t see how.”

Sometimes Dad was too oblivious for his own good.

“Why else would she ask about Mom unless she wanted to know whether you were single?” I continued, my shoulders shaking. “It’s not her business.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” Dad was still calm.

And there was that feeling of wanting him to fight with me again. I wanted to yell at him and then he’d yell at me and hopefully I’d feel better for it.

“It’s completely up to you whether you want to say anything about your mother,” he continued. “If you want to keep her close to your heart and not tell Francesca anything, that’s fine.”

“I just don’t want her asking stupid questions and being nosy.”

“We can’t control other people’s actions. We can only control how we respond to them. And I know how badly Francesca made you feel. But I also know that she didn’t intend to hurt you, no matter how insensitive her questions. And I also know that I am very proud of you.”  

“Why?” I choked out.

“I said that Francesca was gracious in her apology. You were dignified in your response to her apology. And although you don’t forgive her yet, the fact that you made the effort speaks well of your character. Our actions eventually become who we are. Give it time, Abigail, and what started as a well meant gesture will become your truth. We have to be gracious to people, understand that sometimes they mess up. You might not have forgiven her now, but you will do.”

I peered up at him, and he was smiling down at me.

“You are a good girl, Abby. A good woman. Your mother would be proud.”

I felt a tear slip down my cheek.

“You think so?”

“I know so. As do you – she walked in your dreams, after all.”

“What if it was just a dream though? What if I just – what if I just really wanted to see her and my brain just made it up?”

“No, Abby,” he said, gently, still stroking my hair. “I know she visited you.”

“How?”

He opened his mouth for a moment, then closed it. He’d been going to say something and changed his mind.

“You dreamt about her too,” I realized.

“Yes,” he admitted, and smiled. “And she is proud of you. So proud. As am I.”

“I’m still angry with Frannie.”

“That’s natural,” he said. “It will pass.”

“Will it?”

“Most things pass, in the end.”

“Most things?” I was feeling terrible, thinking about death and loneliness. Everything looked bleak. “You mean everything.”

“No.” He closed his eyes. “When your mother and I married, the priest said...” He paused for a moment, and his voice deepened as he remembered the words. “Three things remain: Faith, Hope and Love. And the greatest of these is Love.”

I was really crying now. How come Dad was so wise and I was so messed up?

“You’ll be fine, Abigail. You have your mother’s virtues.”

“Thanks,” I sobbed out. “But, you know – other people? People we don’t know – people we do, even.”

“Yes?”

“I have an idea: Mom is not up for discussion with anyone unless we both agree to say something. Is that okay?”

Dad bent and smoothed my hair out of my face. “That’s fine, sweetheart.” He kissed the top of my head.

I turned over onto my back and looked at Dad. And it was then I noticed he had a subtle chain around his neck. I’d seen it before, but never thought to ask about it. It was just something Dad wore. Today it stuck out though. That was the chain Mom’s ring hung from.

“Is that Mom’s?”

Dad dipped his chin down.

“Yes it is,” he stroked my hair.

“But in my dream, she was wearing it,” I reached up and touched it lightly with my fingertip. “If I saw that, wouldn’t she have had to have been buried wearing it?”

“Not necessarily,” Dad curled his palm around the ring and let it settle back against his chest. “Her fingers were so swollen near the end of her pregnancy that she _couldn’t_ wear it. So she wore it around her neck.” He had an odd expression on his face, not quite deep in thought. “And when she died, your grandmother gave it to me, said I should save it for you as a keepsake.”

I couldn’t say anything, just stared at the ring on a chain around his neck.

“Perhaps the reason you saw the ring in your dream is because I told you the story of when your mother and I got married, and you needed to see it.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn’t,” Dad still seemed pretty far away. “And you said you did see it, correct?”

“Yes, it looks exactly the same.”

Dad smiled quickly. “She would have loved you.” He shook his head and corrected himself. “That is - she _did l_ ove you.”

“Did you love her?”

ooOoo

How could one question be so difficult to answer? I’d told June I loved her when I dreamt of her. It was such an easy thing to say in a dream. But here, in the waking world, I still had my insecurities. We’d been so young when we got married, and a sixteen year old’s definition of love is not the same as a twenty-eight year old’s definition.

It was also unnerving that I felt so homesick. Abigail was right, it had only been a few days. And, as I told her, when moving to a new place, there’s always an adjustment period, no matter how old you are. I could not let her know that, as she was struggling with her own homesickness and emotions, and it was my job to help her in whatever way I could.

I must have gone very quiet, since Abby was now staring at the wall.

“Who’s Carver?”

Abby’s abrupt change of subject knocked me off balance. How had she heard of Carver? Had Ray and I been that loud in our conversation, or had she been listening at the door?

I gave her a sharp look. “Where did you hear that name?”

“When Ray came to the Consulate,” she sat up and stretched. “Should I be worried?”

Under the law, one is considered innocent until proven guilty. This man was suspected of serious crimes, however, and Ray’s instincts did seem to be sound. Even so, instincts are not evidence, and I try not to judge people unfairly. I simply didn’t know enough about the man to make an assessment. But although I could not accuse him of potential crime, even to my daughter, I could still warn her, so I did what I thought best.

“Not worried, but be cautious,” I answered.

ooOoo

That could mean any number of things, really. Cautious of Carver? Be cautious while crossing the street? Be cautious of people driving cars who really don’t know how to drive? Be cautious of flying pigs and lemmings? What did Dad mean by cautious?

That’s kind of a stupid question because I know exactly what cautious means. At this point I’m too tired to care, but I can’t sleep. I want Diefenbaker back. Poor guy, he’s probably all alone and scared in that quarantine cage…

Then again, Ray _did_ say we could go pick him up after breakfast tomorrow, so I guess it’s really not going to be too long of a wait. But I do miss him. Most of the time, Dief has been my only friend, and now that he’s not here, even temporarily, it’s not fair...

I turn over so I’m facing Dad, and suddenly I’m falling to pieces. The stress of moving, missing home, and everything else all jumbled up…

Dad didn’t hesitate. He scooped me up onto his lap and held me, rocking me back and forth.

I don’t remember much after that. I think I fell asleep, because the next thing I knew, morning light was streaming through the window, and someone was knocking at the door.

I sat up to see Dad opening the door for Ray, who was carrying coffee and a tea for me.

“Hey Benny. Hey Abby… what happened to you?”

“Gee, good morning Ray. Thank you, I was just about to say how pretty you looked today too.” I stretched and brushed the hair out of my face, squinting. I’d slept all night on the makeshift couch. Dad must have been worried to wake me up if he moved me. He was probably right, and I really had needed some sleep. I stood up and went toward the shower.

“We had a bit of a tough night,” Dad explained, moving out of the way before I closed the door and pulled on the tap in the shower.

ooOoo

“Thank you kindly for the coffee, Ray. I’m sure Abigail will appreciate the tea once she’s more awake.”

Ray perched himself on the edge of the armchair, and deposited his own mug on the coffee table between us. “She okay after last night?”

“Well,” I glanced toward the door, the shower was running. Good. She couldn’t hear us. “Considering that she’s in a completely new environment and being twelve years old, I’d say she’s doing quite well.”

Ray looked strangely pensive, as though he were trying to ask an uncomfortable question, but wasn’t sure how to approach it.

“So, it must have been weird.”

“What must have been weird?”

“Having Abby when you were - what, fifteen? Sixteen?”

I felt my face tighten. I liked Ray, but he was walking too close to my line here, the private barrier that I maintain to protect Abigail and myself against the world.

“I’m only saying because - life’s weird like that. The girl I loved when I was sixteen - well, I guess I still love her. But I’m with Angie now. I can’t imagine what would have happened if I’d had a kid with Irene... well, I can. It wouldn’t have been pretty. I’d not have as many arms and legs for starters. But what I mean is....” His voice trailed off. He was nervous, talking himself into a hole. I think he’d realized that he shouldn’t have tried to share confidences with me.

I did nothing to make him more comfortable. I managed not to show him how angry I was, which was at least something. Instead, I crossed my arms and cleared my throat, looking down at the floor.

“Abigail asked that I not speak about that while she’s not in the room, as that is a sensitive subject.”

“Alright, so we won’t,” Ray yawned. It was still early, and if I guessed correctly he’d have been up late into the night going over evidence. “Now, I’ve done some more digging into the Carver case…”

Ah, I was right. Thank God. Not, of course, that Ray was running himself ragged, but that it gave us a natural way to avoid awkward topics. Fortunately, Ray seemed inclined to pretend that he had never asked such an impertinent question, and to carry on with police matters. I was so profoundly relieved that it took a while for me to wonder what was taking Abby so long. I glanced at the bathroom door. The shower was still running, but surely the water would have gone cold. I frowned. Had she been listening?

Well, of course she had. She was a lonely child with too much time on her hands. When I was her age I was always listening at doors. Or running out of them. Or slamming them. On one infamous occasion I put my fist through one. Grandmother had not been sympathetic as she taped up my knuckles. The panel was not repaired until winter, in order to remind me, every time I walked past it, why I should reign in my temper. The lesson was well learned. Abby was far more mature than I had been at her age.

But she did listen. And if she _had_ been listening at the door....

How much had she heard about this case? I rubbed my temples and tried to remember what Ray and I had been discussing. The whole sorry mess, probably. I sighed.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t give her nightmares,” I muttered. Ray looked up at me sharply, then glanced to where I was looking. His mind worked quickly.

“Hey,” he said, just a little louder than necessary, “I hope she’s finished with that shower soon, or I’m going to have to drive back to Ma’s and use her bathroom.”

“Oh,” I replied, blandly. “I am sure she’ll be done soon.”

Sure enough, within a minute the sound of the shower stopped. There was a suspicious lack of steam as the door opened. My daughter had, indeed, been listening. One day she could be a fine Mountie. Or spy. It was hard to know if I was proud of her inquisitive nature, or irritated by the deceit.

“Hi, Dad,” she mumbled around the toothbrush in her mouth, as she made her way to her room to go get dressed. Like me, she never took very long with her attire. I don't think she took more than five minutes to get ready, before she came and joined us.

“Wow, Abby,” Ray gawked at her in mock surprise. “Are you sure you're a girl? My sisters take at least an hour getting ready in the mornings.”

“Maybe it's a hormone thing,” Abigail said. “You'll all know when I've hit puberty because I'll start wearing makeup and painting my nails.”

Ray blinked, then pretended he hadn't heard Abigail's attempt to wind him up. Clearly a wise man, and used to cases of the pre-teen sullens. I would have a word with Abigail later about appropriate topics of conversation.

“Better?” Ray asked as he handed her the tea. “I didn’t know what kind you liked, so I just got you regular.”

“Thank you, Detective Vecchio, you didn’t have to.” To my relief she had dialed back the snark and was addressing Ray in a more formal manner - no doubt because she realized that Ray hadn’t actually given her permission to use his first name. Not that Ray would in any way object, I knew that - but I was glad that Abby’s manners had not utterly forsaken her.

“Abby, come on, it’s Ray.” He lifted his mug in cheerful salute and smiled at her, before sipping his coffee. “Well, I thought I should apologize for how my family acted last night.” I heard an apology in there for his earlier misguided attempt at drawing me out over June, and relaxed a little. It helped. “Besides,” he grinned. “I promised you breakfast.”

Abby smiled. I had taken her out to eat when we first got here, but that was a few days ago. “Did you have some place in mind?”

“Ah, well, there’s this amazing place called Carmella’s. Best silver dollar pancakes in the city…”

ooOoo

A few minutes later, we were on our way to Carmella’s, and, after we ordered, Ray didn’t waste a lot of time. He was curious about us, and for good reason. He’d met Dad while Dad was in his dress uniform, which is bright and stands out, and as for me, I didn’t look anything like Dad, unless you counted the hair.

“So I gotta ask,” Ray leaned forward across the table. “How did a Mountie end up in Chicago?”

“There was an opening at the Consulate, Ray,” Dad answered, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah, I got that. But… how many years have you been a Mountie?”

“Ten.” Dad was really taking this in stride. I, on the other hand, wasn’t so sure. I'd heard Ray questioning Dad about Mom earlier, when they didn't know I was listening. The guy was just being so – American. What business of his was it anyway?

“And in the ten years that you were a Mountie in Runamukluk or wherever, you didn’t once think, 'Maybe I should come south before my daughter turns twelve?’”

“There wasn’t a need, Ray,” Dad answered, calm as ever.

“And there’s a need now?”

“Yes, there’s a need now,” I interjected. “It was my idea to move,” I continued, hoping that I wasn’t revealing too much. “I needed to get away.”

Ray’s eyes narrowed as our food came to the table. I leaned back to allow our server to set our plates down. My stomach had been bothering me, so I’d asked for a bowl of oatmeal and sliced peaches.

“What do you mean, Abby?” Ray asked, the syrup pitcher in his hand.

“It’s very hard to get an education when there are only twenty kids in your year, and they think they know everything about you from _gossip.”_ I loaded the word with all the sarcasm I could, but I don’t think Ray realized I was making a point about his own intrusive snooping. I took a bite of oatmeal and swallowed it down with my anger as Dad let me continue talking. I figured he would stop me if he felt I was oversharing. “Plus -” I sighed. Despite his nosiness I shouldn’t take it out on Ray. At least he wasn’t malicious, and Dad seemed to trust him. “I was tired of being called a half-breed and no one would do anything about it.”

“Half-breed?” Ray was trying very hard not to look scandalized.

“In case you didn’t notice, Ray, I’m half Inuit.” I explained, looking at Dad, who seemed to be looking over Ray’s shoulder out the window.

“Yeah, and I’m Italian. Who cares?” Ray smiled at me. “Kids are jerks, Abby. Now me, on the other hand, I think it’s kinda cool.”

What could he possibly mean by cool? I’m not sure two people falling in love and having a baby at the age of sixteen could really be considered cool. Unless he meant it was cool to have unique heritage. He stabbed a bite of pancake onto his fork, then shifted his focus over to Dad. “Something interesting over my shoulder, Benny?”

Dad’s eyes narrowed. “It seems there’s someone walking back and forth outside, staring at us.”

“What?” Ray turned around and stared out the window for a few seconds. “You must be seeing things, Fraser.”

“Actually, I think I see someone too,” I leaned over and craned my neck. “Yeah, he just walked by again.”

“Okay, now you're spooking me,” Ray turned around in his chair again. “What’s he look like?”

I think Dad squinted again, as though he were remembering something.

“Thin, balding, with glasses.”

“Carver.” Ray shot out of his chair and out the door. Dad stood up too, ready to go after Ray if he had to. Now I wasn’t quite sure what to do, as I’d never encountered something like this before.

Ray returned a few seconds later, shaking his head. “He got away.”

“Can you be sure it was him?” Dad asked.

“Unfortunately no,” Ray hung his head. “But if that guy was making Abby uncomfortable, you’re damn right I’m going to do something about it.”

I suddenly couldn’t eat anything else, and my stomach was threatening to reject whatever I’d already ingested. I doubled over and coughed, gagging.

“Abigail?” Dad was right underneath the table with me, his hand on my back. “What is it?”

“My stomach…” I managed. “Something’s wrong, Daddy. Can we pick up Dief and go home?”

“Okay, okay,” Dad helped me up and fixed my sweater as Ray got our breakfast boxed up to go (except for mine, of course. Cooked oatmeal doesn’t travel well) and paid the bill.

We left the diner quietly, Dad with his hand on my back, guiding me back to the car. Once I was in the backseat, Ray offered me his jacket.

“Here, Abby. Curl up under that while we stop,” he told me, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Thank you,” I draped the jacket over my front, tucked it just below my chin, and closed my eyes.

I don’t think I slept much, because a few minutes later I felt something jump on me and lick my face.

“Dief!” I smiled, hugging him around the neck. “Dief! I’m so happy to see you!”

Dief barked and licked my face again. Once he’d grown tired of that, I buried my face in his fur and didn’t say another word. I was so relieved to have him back that I almost forgot about Carver, and my stomach was settling back to normal.

“Are you alright back there, Abby?” I heard Dad ask as he turned around in the front seat.

“Dief,” I snuggled into his fur, sounding like a young child cuddling her teddy bear.

I think Dad smiled, and for a moment, I was able to forget how homesick I was.

ooOoo

Abby is handling change better than I did at her age. When I was a child my grandparents moved often enough that you would think I’d get used to it. I never did. Every time we had to pack the books up and move on I would – well, frankly, I would have some kind of panic attack. I would throw a tantrum, break things, or run away.

My grandparents tried to manage it, to provide some kind of calming ritual, routine. And, as a ‘valuable member of the household’ (my Grandmother was so pragmatic in her expressions of affection) I had my assigned tasks; check the books for spotting or damage, pack them according to the Dewey Decimal system (as far as size and weight permitted), stuff the boxes with straw, attach a label to each box recording the contents. As I grew older and stronger I helped them load the sleds. All of that busyness I was comfortable with. None of that represented change to me; it was routine. Catalogues, lists, security.

But as the day of the actual move approached my anxiety would increase to a point that was nearly pain. I felt it hammering in my chest as I lay, trying to sleep, and on the night before we broke camp I never got any sleep at all.

Strange, then, that I responded to such relocations by flight. As though by running away from home, ‘home’ would be forced to stay right where it was, right where I felt safe.

It was always flight or fight. And I couldn’t fight my grandparents. I hated them for not being my mother or father, but God knows I loved them too.

I hope they knew that.

I watch Abby closely, wondering if she too wants to break and run. She has had so much more radical a move than I ever had. Perhaps I made entirely the wrong decision in taking her here. After all, I am supposed to be the parent. Was I overcompensating for my own childhood when I acquiesced to her desire to leave? She seems as overwhelmed as I do by the sheer abundance of everything in Chicago. Even the people are louder, they wear their hearts on the outside. I can get used to it, when it is a good heart, as Ray Vecchio’s is. But whether Abby can make the adjustment is another matter. I have already found a friend among my peers. Abby, although she seems to like my partner, has yet to make a friend of her own.

She will, I tell myself. How could she not? She is such a good and lovely girl.

Still. My heart aches at the thought that I have brought her so far from home, and that even so she might still be lonely.

ooOoo

My first day of school was upon us, and Dad had said he needed to come to the school with me to make sure the final paperwork and registration for me was all done. That wasn’t a problem. It was much better for me to have Dad walk with me, wearing his (thankfully) brown uniform. The red uniform would have been too much, especially since the red is usually only for very formal occasions.

He hugged me goodbye and wished me a good day before I sat down in the only empty seat in the classroom. Thankfully it was by the window, and hopefully I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone quite yet.

“Good morning everyone,” my teacher, I think his name was Mr. Hallett, addressed us. “We’ve got a new student joining us today, Abigail Fraser.” He motioned for me to stand up. I did, pulled at the sleeves on my sweater. “Abigail, would you like to come up here and say a few words about yourself?”

I gulped, the words sticking in my throat as though I’d eaten a big glob of peanut butter. Walking to the front of the class, I could feel everyone staring at me, because I was the new kid, and _let’s everyone heap shit on the new kid!_

I stood in front of the whole class and tried not to throw up due to nerves. Then I decided to imagine I was like Dad, giving a speech. He said that a lot of the time, he’d imagine he was talking to Granddad Bob, or Grandmother when he was giving speeches. Maybe it would help if I pretended I was talking to Grandmother…

I opened my mouth to say “Hello, my name is Abigail Fraser”, but then everyone was staring at me. Even Mr. Hallett looked confused.

“Sorry Abigail, could you repeat that?”

“Pardon?” I answered him.

“In English, if you don’t mind.”

English? Oh dear. I guess in imagining I was talking to Grandmother, I’d spoken my first words to my new class in Inuktitut.

“I’m sorry,” I forced myself to switch over to English. “I said, hello, my name is Abigail Fraser, and I’ve just moved here from the Northwest Territories with my dad.”

“Are you an Eskimo?” someone blurted.

“No, I’m half-Inuit, thank you,” I steeled my voice, focusing my attention on someone in the front row. “Eskimo is a derogatory word that was made up by the European settlers to describe the Inuit. Eskimo means cannibal, Inuit means people. Please do not call me a cannibal.” I cleared my throat and looked at the class again, this time they were all wide eyed. “My dad is a member of the RCMP, and he taught me how to repair a snowmobile, how to fish, and work with wood.”

I went quiet, unsure of what else I could say. “I also really like Jules Verne as an author. I’m currently reading _Journey to the Centre of the Earth_ for the second time.”

“What language were you speaking earlier, Abigail?” Mr. Hallett asked when the classroom was completely quiet again. I couldn’t tell if he was intrigued or slightly disgusted.

“Inuktitut,” I answered, because it didn’t make sense to lie. “It’s my first language.”

Mr. Hallett smiled at me briefly, and then asked me to sit back down. I did, and as I slid into my seat, I heard the boy I was sitting in front of fake-sneeze into his sweater to make sure Mr. Hallett couldn’t hear the word “eskimo.”

“Dickwad,” I spat back at him, but again in Inuktitut. I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest.

I had a feeling that I wasn’t off to a good start at Rutherford Junior High.

ooOoo

“What’s wrong, Benny?” I blinked and came back into the room.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been staring at the same page in that file for five minutes. And normally you’d just blink and it would be stored away in that computer brain of yours. So, either it’s really interesting, or you’re away with the fairies.”

Oh. Oh dear.

“I’m terribly sorry, Ray.” I could feel my cheeks going pink. “I was remiss in my duties. Forgive me, it won’t happen again.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Something’s bothering you.” He frowned. “You okay?”

“Yes –” I paused. “Well, yes and no.”

“Real informative, Benny. In English?”

I smiled. Ray had warned me that his family only attacked the ones they loved, so I imagined his cheerful insults were a sign of affection. The smile faded, and I sighed.

“I’m worried about Abigail,” I admitted. “She’s – well. As you know, it’s her first day at school, and I fear she is ill-prepared.”

“First day’s always rough,” Ray agreed. “Even if you’re starting at the same time as everyone else. But Abby’s a tough kid. She’ll be fine.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re really worried, aren’t you?”

I bit my lower lip. “You’ve seen how raw Abby is at the moment. I’m afraid that I’ve done the wrong thing, moving so far from her home. It was – an impulsive action on my part.”

That wasn’t quite the term, but then I’m not sure there is a correct term. There had always been a part of me that yearned to escape the small confines of the little township in which, by an accident of childhood, I found myself a prisoner. When Abby expressed the same claustrophobia, did I simply seize upon it as an excuse to escape myself? Had we really moved for Abby, or myself? And if myself, had I placed my daughter in an even lonelier place than that which she had previously inhabited? Had I truly behaved like a grown up, running a thousand miles on the request of a twelve-year-old?

“You were trying to do the best for your daughter,” Ray said. “So, maybe it was impulsive, I don’t know. I don’t know what it was like up there for you guys. But an impulse ain’t always a bad thing.”

“No?”

“No.” He smiled. “I married Angie on an impulse. Well, not really. Took about six months of Ma planning the whole wedding like a military operation. But I asked Angie on an impulse.” He gazed off into the distance, and sighed, looking a little sad. “She was so beautiful. And just – it was such a hot day. We were sitting by the lake, and the wind was coming off it. She closed her eyes and tilted her head –” he closed his own eyes, to demonstrate. “Only,” he laughed. “She had more hair than I do, and it blew across her face. So I smoothed it back, and she turned to look at me. She was just –” he shook his head. “Well. You know. You’ve met Angie.” He looked shy, and gave a little smile. “She’s beautiful.”

I smiled too. I didn’t want to say that Angie hadn’t made much of an impression on me, one way or the other. The loudest Vecchios drowned out the more modest speakers, and I’m not sure I exchanged more than a few pleasantries with her. In fact, I had been surprised at the dinner to learn that Angie was his wife, and I was even more surprised now to realise that Ray was so romantic about her. I looked at him closely. His face was pensive and – yes. Sad. If I had been an American I would have pushed him on this point.

As it was, I nodded and shuffled the papers again, to distract us both from painful topics, and to draw us back to the job at hand. Ray laid a hand on my shoulder, as though he knew what I was doing. “We need a break from this desk, Benny. Come on. Take the files, and we’ll try to make sense of them. Let’s drink horrible coffee and wrestle the snack machine. It helps.”

“Helps what?”

“The police process. American cops are fueled by terrible coffee.”

“Canadian cops too,” I admitted, thinking of the ancient coffee machine at my previous station.

“Really?” Ray sounded amused. “I’d a thought it was bark tea, or pemmican juice, or maple syrup –”

“Maple syrup?” I blinked. “Even by American standards that is rather sweet as a beverage.”

“You know what else American cops are fueled by, Benny? Bullshit. You gotta talk shit to get shit done. “

“I see.” I kept my face as innocent as possible, but it didn’t fool him.

“Yeah, right. Like Canadian cops never talk crap either.”

“Never,” I insisted. He laughed and scooped up some of the papers as he made his way to the rec room. I grabbed the rest and followed, realising as I did so that he had successfully distracted me, for at least a few minutes, from my worries about Abby.

I did wonder though, at what he had revealed about his relationship with his wife. He clearly loved her, he was clearly saddened by something.

Well. Clearly the longer I stayed in Chicago the more I was affected by American mores. Because, honestly, Ray’s relationship with his wife was none of my business.

I worried though. I didn’t want my friend to be sad.

ooOoo

There was a very strange feeling in the air that same afternoon. My entire body felt wound up, as though I was preparing to run, but I didn’t know why. The rest of the day hadn’t gone too badly. I’d gotten my books and met with Mr. Hallett to discuss whether I needed extra tutoring in order to catch up, but he didn’t seem to think it was necessary.

Dad had offered to pick me up from school as he’d had the early shift at the Consulate, but I thought I’d simply walk and meet him there. The walk from school was less than ten minutes, so it would be fairly easy to meet him at work and then we would walk home together.

As I walked, I felt that tingling sensation on the back of my neck. The one that tells you something’s really wrong? I turned around to see the man Ray had called Carver walking several feet behind me. He wasn’t doing anything besides walking, but something really didn’t feel right. I ducked into the convenience store and went straight up to the counter.

“Hi, my name is Abigail Fraser. Could I use your phone, please?”

I looked out the window without turning my head to see Carver staring at me in the window.

“Paying customers only,” came the curt reply.

“Please…” I begged. “It’s really important. I need to call my dad.”

“Then who’s that out the window waving at you?”

“Not my dad,” I stared at the cashier intently, feeling very nervous. “I’ll buy a pack of chewing gum. May I please use your phone?” I grabbed the gum from the display and placed it on the counter with more force than necessary.

As soon as I handed him the 25 cents or whatever it was, he brought the phone out onto the counter.

I punched in Ray Vecchio’s phone number, thinking that might be the best course of action.

“Vecchio.”

“Ray, is Dad with you?”

“Yeah he’s right here. Abby, are you okay?”

“No…” I tried to steady my voice. “I’m at Frank’s Convenience near Rutherford Junior High. I think Carver is following me.”

“Stay right where you are, Abby, we’ll be right there…”

I hung up the phone and rolled my eyes to look out the window again. I couldn’t see Carver, but something told me he hadn’t gone very far.

“Thank you, uh…”

“Frank.”  His forehead wrinkled up and he looked at me through faded blue eyes. "Listen, sorry about the gum. Are you okay?"

“Frank.” I repeated his name as I tried to pull my anxiety back under control. “Yes, uh… listen, that guy you saw looking at me, he’s really creeping me out. Do you think I could stay in here until my dad gets here? He’s not too far away.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Frank reached underneath the counter and brought out an old copy of National Geographic. “Here you are, young lady. Open this up and tell me about everything you see in there until your dad gets here.”

I was very surprised to find that he’d listened to the panic I’d been trying desperately to hide. Just as I’d turned the page to an article about the cod fisheries in the Atlantic (it looked really interesting with an essay all about the small fishing villages), Dad and Ray came running into the store.

“Abigail, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Dad,” I answered as he folded me into a hug. “I was really creeped out for a second but, um…”

“Frank Delaney.”

“Frank let me read a magazine until you got here.” I explained. “It’s an old National Geographic. I think we’ve been here, actually. And look! Here’s Fort Norman!”

“So it is,” Dad answered, craning his neck to look through the magazine. “Mr. Delaney, what do I owe you for the magazine?”

“Nah,” he answered. “Listen, Abigail, if you’d simply told me that guy was creeping you out in the first place, I’d have let you use the phone, no question, then chased him away with a broom.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think to say that.” I looked at him and gave him a small smile. “Thank you, Frank. I’m sorry to have interrupted your day.”

“Oh don’t you worry, I’m just glad you’re safe.” Frank came around the counter and shook Dad’s hand. “Listen, uh…”

“Benton Fraser, RCMP.”

“Fraser. If your Abigail ever needs help again, she can come here and no questions.”

“Well thank you, Mr. Delaney.”

“It’s Frank. Mr. Delaney is my father.” He went back behind the counter. “You best be getting home now. Have a good night.”

Frank went back behind the counter just as Ray came running back toward us, panting heavily and looking cross with himself.

“I couldn’t catch him,” he shook his head. “Damn, so close. We could’ve had him.” He turned to me. “You okay, Abby?”

“I’m alright. Can we go home?”

“Yeah, I’ll drop you and your dad off at home. Come on…” we went back to the car and I climbed in, still a little bit shaky.

“I’m sorry to call you, and take you away from work.” I don’t know why I felt I had to apologize. It just came out, as the Canadian stereotype dictates.

“Abigail, don’t ever apologize for calling me if you feel unsafe,” Dad answered. “If this Carver is trying to intimidate you, it may be best if you get an escort to and from school until he’s apprehended.”

“Oh Dad, I’m already an outsider. If I get an escort, that’s all the more reason for other kids to make fun of me.”

I could see something in Dad’s eyes. It took me a minute to realize that it was disappointment, and I cringed. He’d taken me to a whole new country, and I was still the weird kid. He must have been hoping I’d fit in. “Sorry, Daddy.”

He looked at me strangely. “What on earth for, Abby?”

“For, you know, messing up on my first day.”

“I’m not _cross_ with you,” he said, a look of surprise on his face. “I’m sad for you, but that’s a different thing. And, besides.” His face brightened a little, but I think it was false cheer, put on for my benefit. “Ray here points out that first days are always hard. I’m sure whatever problem you are having at the moment is a temporary setback.”

I resisted the urge to tell him how badly I’d messed up. He probably felt miserable enough already without realizing that I stuck out as badly at this new school as I did at the last one.

“Yeah, maybe. But still – Dief would really make me look weird.” I could just hear it now. ‘Oh, look – here comes that Eskimo with her wolf.’

“It may be the only way to keep you safe from Carver until we catch him.” Ray answered for Dad. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet since we got into the car. The case was getting to him. “Especially if he’s intimidating you and trying to get at you.”

“I’m not hurt, though. He hasn’t done anything but follow me.”

“And he’s intimidating you, Abigail,” Dad repeated, using his RCMP voice. “You know as well as I do that intimidation is illegal, whether it be in the Territories or in Chicago.”

I slumped back in my seat in the back of the car. I knew they were right, but I didn’t want to let them know that. What twelve year old wants to admit when their parents are right? Not that Ray was a parent. More like an uncle – I had an uncle, of course, but at least this one _liked_ Dad.

“What about the other kids?” It was the first time I’d actually ever asked this question. “It’s not as though I’ve ever had any friends, but I’d like to try to make some, and that won’t happen if I have an escort.”

“I understand, Abigail, but as long as Carver remains at large, he is a threat, and I can’t have anything happen to you.”

“Daddy…”

“No arguments, Abigail,” his RCMP voice was suddenly a lot more pronounced and stern. “I’ll speak to your principal about keeping Dief with you at school, and make arrangements at the Consulate to do the early shifts. That way I can pick you up from school and get you home safely.”

Ray pulled up to the apartment building and stopped. “You know, Abby,” he said. “That might not be a bad idea. Dief would be a great protector, and you know how much folks love dogs.”

“He’s half wolf,” I stated, defending his honour. I’d always liked the fact that Dief had a foot in two worlds, a bit like me. Not that wolves or dogs are prejudiced, I don’t think. But when I was younger I liked to imagine that he understood me better since we were neither of us one thing or the other. I’d tried explaining that to Dad once, and he didn’t understand. “But you’re not half and half,” he’d said. “You’re completely you.”

Actually, maybe I was the one who didn’t understand. Dad had a point.

Ray laughed, and my mind returned to the present. “Even better,” he said. “Just think how much the other kids are going to love meeting an Arctic Wolf.”

I smiled a little. “Yeah, I suppose they will.”

“He will beg shamelessly for treats,” Dad said, pretending to be stern, though he didn’t quite carry it off. I could hear the smile in his voice. “You’ll have to keep him in check.”

“Yes, Dad.” I rolled my eyes, even though I was still in the back seat and he couldn’t see me being dramatic. _Like you don’t spoil him too,_ I thought. Ray glanced over his shoulder at me and jerked his head in Dad’s direction. He must have read my thoughts.

“Don’t listen to your old man. He spoils Dief worse than anyone.”

I nodded sagely. “That he does.”

Dad’s ears went pink. Ray grinned at him and clapped his shoulder. “Don’t worry Benny, we won’t tell anyone.”

I made a noise that sounded like “pfft” as we all got out of the car. Despite the anxieties of the day I was feeling a lot better. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day.

ooOoo

It shouldn’t surprise me that Ray is good with Abby. Despite a bad start they seem to be developing an easy friendship, and she seems happy to open up to him about things that she has, previously, only shared with me. I wonder about that. Ray has had a similar effect on me. I’m comfortable around him, despite the obvious differences in our characters and life experiences. Something he said to Abby resonates with me. She told him how it felt to be called a ‘half-breed,’ and he shrugged and said ‘so what? I’m Italian.’ I wonder whether that was a problem for him, growing up. His family have been here two generations, and he still identifies as Italian more than American. To cling to an identity so hard one must have had something to react against.

I file it for future examination, alongside his comments about Angie.

Today was a hard day for me, though not, I suspect, as hard as it was for Abby. It is clear from her comments that her classmates were not as welcoming as I had hoped. No surprises there, sadly. Ray’s observations about how Dief would benefit her, not just as guard but as companion and icebreaker, were inspired; I hope that it means tomorrow will go better for her.

I hope tomorrow will go better for me. Although Ray and I have developed an easy working rapport, I cannot say as much for his colleagues. His Lieutenant seems constantly on the verge of apoplexy (though, to be fair, he appears to have just cause) and is not quite sure yet what my role should be. Ray’s colleagues - well. Jack Huey appears to be a good man. Gardino is also, I am sure, a good man, but it is quite clear that he considers me a joke. The women, for whatever reason, seem to consider me - I don’t know how to put it. Prey? I’ve never before had quite so many eyes on me, even in winter, even in the heart of tourist season. Are all Americans so obvious? Or is it that the women too see me as some kind of joke? Something to conquer, then brag about?

I have no idea. No idea what any of them are thinking, apart from Ray. Ray jokes about everything, but underneath he is utterly serious. He thinks about Carver, is driven to find him before he kills again. Yes, Ray plays the fool, but I know, if nobody else does, that this is an act.

He plays the fool with me too, and that is something that I don’t yet understand. I am not, to be honest, quite sure to what extent he plays the role of Brash American, or why. Perhaps it is done to set me at my ease, just as I play the innocent country boy to set him at his. It feels - well, it feels comfortable, like a game we play. I had operated largely on my own in the North - this gentle ribbing is a new experience. Yes, Ray teases me, but that he likes me, that he likes Abby, is obvious. If it were not for the unexpected gift of his friendship I would find this placement very hard indeed.

Dief will help Abby at school, I am sure. But she needs the friendship of her peers too. Will Dief help her find a friend? I don’t want my daughter to be always out in the cold.

ooOoo

Now that I think about it, having Dief at school would be pretty cool. How many other kids can say they have an Arctic Wolf as a pet? And he’s a friend - my best friend. Plus, he might even help me make a friend.

Not that I haven’t already made a friend in Ray. Well, he’s more Dad’s friend than mine, but I think he’s cool. And I’m glad for Dad too, that he’s got someone on his side. So, maybe things are getting better. Hopefully, when Dad comes with me to school tomorrow, Dief will be allowed to stay.

It’s not even five o’clock and I’m ready to climb into bed. Sitting down at the end of my mattress, I look over at my dresser to the picture of Mom and Dad sitting around the campfire, and all I can think about is how much I want to hear Mom’s voice. As much as I love Dad and he knows so many things, it’s times like this where I really just want to know what Mom would do. I don’t know why, but I really need her right now.

I decide that there’s no point in asking for anything, because it won’t help. Well, maybe asking if the principal will let Dief stay at school with me is a good idea, but other than that, forget it.

When we walked to school the next morning, I could swear that Dief was smiling. He was walking between me and Dad with his big curly tail sticking up in the air, wagging like a proud and hairy flag in the breeze. Dad had given him a big speech the night before, telling him that it would be his job to make sure that I was safe, especially if Dad couldn’t stay to be sure I would be alright.

We sat in the principal’s office, where Dad looked terribly out of place in his regular clothes. I guess he had decided that the uniform was overkill. Still, it was nice to see my Dad wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and looking like a dad, not a Mountie. He’d decided I stood out enough, without him adding to it. Though - maybe the uniform would have helped, now I think about it. Because, we’d been there less than a minute before I got a bad vibe from Mr Reilly - it was obvious the guy had no patience with us, and didn’t take Dad seriously.

Dad talked to him like he wasn’t an idiot though - Dad could be polite to anyone. And he likes to think the best of people. I don’t. Mr Reilly didn’t like us, and I _really_ didn’t like him.

“So you see Mr. Reilly, until such time as this Mr. Carver is apprehended, I’d like Abigail to have our dog by her side, as a precautionary measure.”

“You know, Mr. Fraser-”.

"Constable," I interrupted. This guy needed reminding that Dad was a cop. Both Dad and Mr. Reilly looked at me - well, Mr. Reilly glared. Dad made a gentle 'shush' sound.

"Constable." Mr. Reilly's voice was dry. I shouldn't have said anything, now he was just cross with us. "As I was saying. This is a very unusual request. I realize that people may do things differently in..." he looked down at a piece of paper and frowned. Presumably he found our region of Canada to be unpronounceable.  Though how “Fort Norman” was more difficult than “Chicago”, I have no idea. "Canada," he concluded. "But your daughter has been a student here for one day, and you're already asking for special dispensations."

"We are not asking for favour here, but…”

“Normally we wouldn’t allow any sort of animal in the school, seeing eye dogs excepted of course. We can't let one student bring in her pet. The next thing all the students will demand it, and -”

Uncharacteristically, it was Dad who interrupted this time. "Dief is not a pet. He's a service dog. He works with the police."

"He's not a pet?" Mr Reilly sounded skeptical. "Your daughter has already talked about him as a pet."

Yup. I was right. The guy was a moron. No _way_ I would call Dief a pet. Dad knew that - Dief knew that. Dief was lying across my feet, and I swear he was rolling his eyes.

"Family member," I corrected him. It was Dad's turn to glare at me, and this time there was a fractional shake of his head. 'Be quiet,' he was saying. 'Let me handle this.' I stared at my feet and shut up. I could feel a lump in my throat. They weren't going to let me have Dief...

“Dief is more than just a ‘service dog,’ or ‘pet,’” Dad said, as defensive of Dief as I would be myself. “Abby is very fond of him, of course, but that does not negate the fact that he is, in essence, a police dog. In fact....” Dad rummaged around in his pockets, uncharacteristically clumsy, and produced a sheaf of papers. “Here are his documents - ”

“That’s very interesting, Mr Fraser.” Mr Reilly didn’t sound interested. He didn’t even glance at the papers - he wasn’t making any pretence to be polite now. Maybe he couldn’t remember that Dad was a constable, or maybe he didn’t care. Either he was being rude, or he wasn’t paying any attention. If he was being rude then he wouldn’t be any help, if he wasn’t paying attention then he was an idiot.

“I still don’t see how the presence of an....” Mr Reilly stared at some of Dad’s documents, “...RCMP canine operative is going to help the smooth running of the school.”

Of course, Reilly could be both. It’s not like the world wasn’t already full of rude idiots.

“Well, he’s scarcely going to _prevent_ the smooth operation of the school, and these are extenuating circumstances,” Dad answered, his face tense but keeping his voice firmly under control. The only reason I could read his stress was the fact that I knew him so well. Mr Reilly didn’t know him, and didn’t want to know him. As far as he was concerned we were something he scraped off his shoe. That was fine by me, Dad was too good for him. I nearly said it, but Dad squeezed my hand, like he could read my mind. His voice was smooth as he continued to talk. “We’re new to Chicago, and Mr. Carver has been seen around here, when he clearly has no business being around an elementary school. I’d also like to add a note to Abigail’s file that no one but myself, Detective Raymond Vecchio, or his mother, Gwen Vecchio, is permitted to pick her up from school until this case is closed.”

Mr. Reilly narrowed his eyes at Dad.

“Hmm,” he looked between the three of us sitting across the desk from him. “Here is my offer, Constable,” he tented his fingers. “I will allow your… what did you say his name was?”

“Diefenbaker, or Dief most of the time.”

“I will allow Diefenbaker to stay for one day initially. _If_ he remains on good behaviour then he _may_ be allowed to remain longer. But if he ends up being too disruptive or distracting, I will have to ask you to come and pick him up. If that is the case, I will make sure that Abigail is supervised at all times.”

Oh, great. So, now even if Dief was on best behaviour he had to be ‘not distracting.’ So, if anyone petted him, even on a class break Mr Reilly could say he was a distraction. The guy had it in for us. I’m not stupid - I could see it coming a mile off.

“Thank you kindly, Mr. Reilly,” Dad stood up and reached across the desk to shake his hand. Mr Reilly held his own hand up like a limp fish, with a disdainful expression on his face like he thought Dad would - I don’t know, give him cooties or something. You wouldn’t know it to look at Dad though. Dad plays dumb sometimes, lets the world think he’s some yokel - but I could tell Dad knew just what a dick Mr Reilly was being. Dad’s face was smooth and pleasant - he’s kind of like an iceberg. I was glad Mr Reilly didn’t realise how pissed Dad really was - because then I’d have been excluded in less than a minute.

“Dief,” Dad turned his back on Mr Reilly, and bent down to made Dief look at him. “Watch Abigail.”

Dief wuffled, almost as though he realized that he’d been given a very important job, but he wouldn’t be allowed to bark. He sat right by my side as I watched Dad go back outside and turn to walk toward the Consulate.

ooOoo

Good God, I could kill that man. Arrogant, insufferable, prejudiced toad. Looking at my Abigail with such barely concealed contempt, all but accusing us both of lying about the importance of what is happening right at this moment. If he felt that I was overreacting in requesting Dief’s presence then all he had to do was call the Chicago PD. I’d tried to give him Ray’s business card - but I doubt very much whether Reilly (I can’t stand to give him even the honorific title of ‘Mister’) will even bother to read it. He gave every indication of thinking that he knew everything already. Someone who is so convinced of their own ‘correctness’ will never see the need to ask a question or acknowledge ignorance.

Even though, by God, he is a very ignorant man.

One day, he gave us. One day in which Dief can protect Abby. I need to talk to Ray about ways in which we can get that day extended. Ray is on our side - and despite his protestations and exaggerations, he is clearly very fond of Dief. I laughed when Ray turned up with a ‘Wolf Licence’

And Reilly needs to understand how important it is that Abigail is protected. I tried to project that urgency through our handshake, but Reilly proffered his own reluctant hand with as little enthusiasm as if mine were covered in feces. His own was cold, and damp.  I resisted the very strong urge to wipe my hand on my pant leg when we had finished.

Dief looked at me as I left, offering me a look of silent sympathy as he thumped his tail on the floor and leaned his body against Abby’s leg.  I understood what he was telling me. ‘I’ll look after her for you.’

He would, I knew that. And yet, despite my trust of Dief, for some reason every hair on the back of my neck stood up.

 _It will be alright,_ I told myself, as I left the room. _Please, let it be alright._

ooOoo

As soon as Dad left, Mr. Reilly looked at me over his glasses. “He’s a lovely dog, Abigail.”

“Thank you sir,” I said, flatly, feeling thoroughly out of place now that Dad wasn’t there with me. I felt as though I’d done something wrong in asking him to be there in the first place. “May we please go to class?”

“Just one more thing,” Mr. Reilly looked from me to Dief and back to me. “Your father didn’t say anything about Diefenbaker needing a vest. You’re certain he works with the police?”

For a moment I could hardly speak. “Yes, of course he does,” I answered, not quite liking where this line of questioning was going. Was the man really suggesting that my Dad was a liar? He was, wasn’t he? Oh my God. My voice went steely. “He just doesn’t wear a vest because it makes him itch.”

Mr. Reilly believed raised an eyebrow.

“You can always check with the Canadian Consulate if you don’t believe me.”

He wasn’t listening. He waved us off and allowed Dief and I to head off to the classroom. Just as we were leaving, I saw him pick up the phone to call down to Mr. Hallett, presumably to let him know that we were on our way. I wish I could hear what else the man said about us. My heart was hammering I was so upset. That man - that man made me so _angry._

The entire room was silent as we entered, which I was very thankful for. Once I sat back down in my seat, Dief settled in underneath my desk and laid down on my feet. I fully expected people to be more curious about the situation, but no one seemed to care. Which was fine by me. I didn’t want Dief to ‘distract’ anyone after all.

It wasn’t until we were in the middle of math class that I felt horribly uneasy. It was nearing the end of the day, and Dief was getting a little restless. Once the bell rang, I noticed someone waiting behind as I gathered my books and backpack.

“Hi, uh, Abigail?” she greeted me, looking at her shoes.

“Hello,” I answered, not daring to smile.

“I, uh, I just wanted to say hello,” she told me. “I know you’re new here, and I know that’s hard.”

“Thank you,” I zipped up my backpack and put it over my shoulder. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Alexandra,” she offered me another smile. “I moved here last year. It’s a good school, once you get to know everyone.” We walked out of the classroom together and out toward the front of the school. Dad wasn’t quite there yet, and I was still feeling uneasy.

I can’t explain why I was so uneasy. I couldn’t see Carver anywhere, and I had Dief with me. I should have been just fine.

“So, you said you’re from the Northwest Territories?” Alexandra asked, sitting down on the front steps.

I stared at her, surprised that someone had actually remembered me saying that, before the whole “eskimo” thing, anyway.

“Yes,” I answered, scratching Dief behind the ears. “It’s a big change, but it’s not a bad one either.” At least, I hoped not.

“It is much colder than here?”

“Well, Fort Norman is in the Arctic, so it gets really cold, really quickly. Chicago isn’t like that, so far as I can tell.”

“What’s it like?”

“Fort Norman? Very quiet,” I answered as Dief sighed and laid down at my feet. “There are more kids in this school than in the entire town.”

Alexandra’s eyes got big. It must seem weird, to someone from a big city, to think of such tiny communities. Then she surprised me. “It sounds lonely.”

That was... astute of her. “It can be,” I admitted. I could see Alexandra was really making an effort, and I did appreciate it. There weren’t many people who would have, especially when it was only my second day. “Where did you move from?”

“Actually, I came from Washington,” Alexandra told me. “Washington State, not D.C. Although you’d be surprised at how many people actually ask me that. Followed by ‘did your dad work at the White House?’ Pfft, my dad works at a bank.”

“Sometimes I wish my dad had a normal job too,” I admitted, feeling very comfortable with this girl. “But now that we’re here, there’s less of a chance that he’ll get lost in a snowstorm.”

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing…” I said more to myself than to her. I didn’t want to tell Alexandra too much just yet. After all, we’d just introduced ourselves. Dief shifted at my feet. “Yes, I know. Dad will be here soon, Dief.”

“I wanted to ask you about him, actually,” Alexandra motioned to Dief and broke the uneasy silence we had fallen into. “Why do you have...” she didn’t finish the question immediately, smiling at him instead. “You said his name was Dief?”

I nodded.

“Why do you have Dief with you in class?”

“Just…” How could I explain his presence without alarming her? I couldn’t tell her about Carver, that wouldn’t be good. Luckily, I didn’t have to, as Dad and someone I could only assume was Alexandra’s mother came around the corner.

“Oh, that’s my mom,” Alexandra confirmed my deduction, then reached into her backpack and scribbled a phone number on a piece of paper for me. “I thought, if you’d ever like to come over, maybe go swimming or something, give me a call.”

“Oh thank you,” I smiled and repeated the gesture for her. I didn’t think Dad would mind me swapping phone numbers.“It was very nice to meet you, Alexandra.”

“Please call me Alex,” she smiled at me and tucked the piece of paper with our number on it into her pocket. “See you tomorrow, Abigail.”

“And you can call me Abby,” I told her just as she went down the steps. “See you tomorrow!” I called back as I gathered up my things and met Dad at the gate.

“Hi Dad!” I know I was smiling, and it felt fantastic! Suddenly I didn’t feel so alone. Perhaps I really could make a friend here in Chicago…

“Hi sweetheart,” he smiled back at me. “How was your day? Did Dief behave himself?”

“Dief was just fine, and the girl you saw me talking to? Her name is Alexandra, and she invited me to go swimming sometime.”

“Well that was very nice,” Dad looked like he was happy for me. Ray had been right, having Dief with me at school served a double purpose. He could help me make friends while keeping an eye out for Carver; I didn’t want to think about that though. “Did you introduce yourself?”

“No, she introduced herself to me. She said that she was new last year, and she didn’t have many friends at first, either.”

Dad smiled as I threaded my arm through his. We walked home together, Dief in front of us, ever vigilant.

ooOoo

A week later, Dad and I were sitting in Mr. Reilly’s office again, and this time he was staring at me over his glasses. I didn’t like it.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite see what the problem is, Mr. Reilly,” Dad leaned forward to divert the man’s attention away from me. “You told me that if Diefenbaker was not causing a distraction, he could stay with Abigail until this case was closed.”

I stared at the floor, deciding it was probably best that I not say anything. I didn’t want to get myself, or Dief, in any trouble. But - we’d been lucky Dief lasted this long. I had a really bad feeling.

“It’s been over a week and there’s been no sign of this man Carver,” Reilly continued. “Frankly, I’m not convinced that he’s even real.”

Dad looked almost sick, as though he couldn’t believe what had just come out of Mr. Reilly’s mouth.

“Mr. Reilly,” Dad swallowed and focused on him exclusively. “We have a missing woman who was last seen in this man’s company, and no one has heard from her in over three weeks. Carver is indeed real, and he’s already followed Abigail once, trying to intimidate her. For all we know, he could be waiting until she no longer has Diefenbaker with her before he makes a move. Now I’m not asking for special favours here; I’m simply asking why it’s suddenly a problem for Diefenbaker to remain at school with Abigail.”

“If you say this - what do you call him - Carver’s waiting to make a move, could you not take the dog back to work with you? As I said, I will make sure that Abigail is supervised at all times.” Reilly’s voice was dismissive, all but contemptuous. “We are a school, after all. We have experience looking after children.”  

I saw Dad’s eyes go wide.

“Are you suggesting that we use Abigail as bait?”

Even Reilly could see that Dad was getting a little agitated.

“Dad…”

His voice was tight. “Would you ask the same of your daughter?”

“Of course not, and that’s not what I’m suggesting,” Mr. Reilly looked like he was backpedaling. That was exactly what he’d been suggesting, and we all knew that. “There’s been no sign of this Carver person for over a week, so perhaps having Dief go back to the police department for one day might be a good idea.”

“Just a day?” Dad repeated. I could tell he didn’t like the idea, and neither did Dief, judging from the way he was sitting beside me.  

“Just a day,” Mr. Reilly answered.

“Absolutely not,” Dad answered. “I will not compromise my daughter’s safety over your need to make it look as though you’re keeping the school safe when you’re clearly not listening to parents’ concerns.” I could see Dad’s neck going red, although he had his sentry duty look on. He was trying very hard not to start yelling; I could feel it, like it was my own temper being held in check. I could always read Dad.

“Dad,” I tapped on his shoulder, switching to Inuktitut.

That certainly got his attention.

“Dad, I don’t want to be a burden or cause any trouble,” I met his gaze as he turned in his chair. “If it’s this much of an issue, I’ll be alright for one day. Really.”

He gave me a long hard stare, and saw my resolve. “I don’t like it,” he said.

“Neither do I,” I said, “but you can see this man isn’t listening to us. So, I’ll be very careful. I’ll stay on campus, I’ll keep an eye out. I promise.” I sighed. “I don’t want to make things any worse. It’s either this, or I don’t go to school at all. And - I’ve made some friends.”

He paused for a long moment. He knew I’d been enjoying school this last week, and he wanted me to have friends. I could see the moment he caved. “If you’re sure, Abigail.” He sounded bleak.

I nodded. “I’ll be okay for a day,” I repeated.

“I don’t want to risk your safety, sweetheart. Your grandparents would never forgive me if something happened to you. I’d never forgive myself...”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Mr. Reilly pushed in. He sounded offended. “What language are you speaking?”

I already knew he wasn’t sorry. I hadn’t even known the man for more than a week and already I disliked him intensely. I don’t want to say hate, because Dad once told me that you should never hate a person.

“Inuktitut,” I answered. “As I said to Mr. Hallett in class on my first day, it’s my first language.”

“First language?” Mr. Reilly looked stunned, as though he couldn’t believe I could possibly know more than one language. “What is that, some kind of Northern language that the Eskimo people speak?”

I grabbed onto Dad’s knee to keep myself from jumping up and grabbing the man by the tie and yelling in his stupid, smug face. How fucking dare he?

“I didn’t realize you were part Eskimo too,” Mr. Reilly appeared to have no inclination at how angry I was.

“No one here is part Eskimo,” Dad was still angry; I could hear it in his voice as he laid his hand over mine in reassurance. “But if by that you mean part Inuit, no. I do not have that honour.” Dad looked at me as he said ‘honour’. “My daughter does.”

I gave Dad a small smile.

Mr. Reilly didn’t look too impressed. Frankly, I think he’d had enough of Dad and I, and gave us an open look of contempt as he stood up and went toward the window.

“I want Diefenbaker out of my school in the next hour, Constable,” he answered. “And if this does not happen, Abigail will no longer be welcome at Rutherford.”

Dad had his Mountie mask on again. Was that legal? Threatening to kick me out of school when things didn’t go the way he wanted them to? Just because Dad was trying to keep me safe? What could we do?

“Dad,” I whispered, still in Inuktitut. “It’s just one day. I’ll be alright.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Please trust me,” I told him, then switched back to English. “Mr. Reilly said he would make sure I was supervised. It would reflect badly on the school if something happened while he was in charge. Even if he doesn’t want Dief here, that part is still okay, isn’t it?” I directly the last part of that sentence toward the man I had come to dislike so intensely in such a short time.

“Yes, absolutely,” Mr. Reilly said to the window.

Dad sighed, grabbed his hat, and got up. Evidently he had realized that this was a battle he was not going to win. We walked out to the foyer, Dief on our heels.

“I still don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone, Abigail,” Dad told me as we walked outside. “There’s no telling what Carver is capable of, even if he hasn’t been seen around here for quite a while.”

“It’s only a day, Dad,” I hugged him tightly.

“Alright, honey,” he pulled me to him and hugged me tightly. Normally, being hugged and kissed by my dad where people could see would be embarrassing, but not this time. Reilly had rattled me - Dad must have seen that, and knew how badly I needed a hug. “I’ll see you after school.” His voice was gentle.

“Love you,” I whispered against his shoulder.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

I waited until he left with Dief before walking back to the classroom, feeling utterly defeated.

ooOoo

I went back to the 27th precinct to find Ray sitting at his desk, sorting through his file on Carver. He looked exhausted, as though he hadn’t slept in a few days.

“Hey Benny, how’s it going?” he looked up as I sat down, then looked to my side. “What’s Dief doing here? Shouldn’t he be at school with Abby?”

“Since there’s been no sign or news  of Carver for over a week, her principal demanded that I bring him back here, or else Abby would no longer be welcome at Rutherford.”

Ray’s eyes went wide. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard and I’m a police officer,” he muttered. “Geez, Benny, that’s just wrong. You want me to get involved?”

“No, that’s alright Ray. I suspect he’s acting this way because Abigail is half-Inuit.”

“You saying he’s racist?”

“I don’t want to speak ill of anyone, Ray, especially an educator, but…”

I didn’t need to finish my sentence. Ray knew exactly what I meant. I knew things would be difficult no matter where we ended up, but Abigail shouldn’t be made to suffer for it.

“Ah well, not saying it’s right, but you can’t fix stupid, especially when it comes to people who can’t see past the end of their nose.” He put the file down and picked up one of the photographs from Carver’s apartment. He squinted, then exhaled sharply. “I’ve got nothing. Maybe you can see something?”

I took the photo from him. “Do you have a magnifying glass?”

“Benny, where am I going to get a magnifying glass? Have you ever seen me with a magnifying glass at this desk? Do I look like Sherlock Holmes?”

Actually, I thought, irrelevantly, from a purely physical point of view he would make a very credible Holmes, if he could just do the accent. I blinked. Obviously, Ray was not the only person exhausted. My brain was babbling. Oh dear.

“My apologies,” I put my hands up in surrender. Going over the case notes gave me something to focus on, which was exactly was I needed. Worrying about Abby wasn’t going to do anything except get us both worked up, and I couldn’t have that if I wanted to do my job effectively.

I don’t quite remember how, but we ended up back at the Consulate, perhaps to see if we could find out more about Helen Harris’ Canadian connections. We had just sat down at my desk when I heard someone’s voice behind me.

_He’s got Abigail._

June. That was June’s voice. I looked over my shoulder, panicked. Of course, there was no one there. How could there be? June had been dead for twelve years. Perhaps I’d been hearing things.

“You okay, Benny?” Ray asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I answered. Surely hearing her voice could not have been a coincidence.... No. Sternly I picked up my part of the file and studied the pictures closely. I was overtired, and worried about Abby - that’s all it was.

Just as I persuaded myself that I was imagining things, the phone rang.

“Canadian Consulate, Constable Benton Fraser speaking.”

“Constable, this is Keith Reilly at Rutherford Junior High.”

“How can I help you, Mr. Reilly?” I steeled my voice. I’d only just spoken to the man a few hours ago.

“I’m calling to inform you that Abigail did not return to her classroom after you left.”

I felt my stomach drop into my feet. Carver had her, I was sure of it. Why hadn’t I listened to my instincts and brought her back to the Consulate with me?

“Detective Vecchio and I will be right there.” I hung up as quickly as I could and grabbed my hat. “Ray, that was the school. Abigail didn’t return to class.”

Ray didn’t need any other explanation. Files abandoned, we raced to the school, siren blaring, breaking every traffic law in the city of Chicago, and for once I didn’t care.

For the second time that day, I found myself sitting in the principal’s office at my daughter’s school, but this time I was far too angry to say anything.

“So, what happened?” Ray asked, sitting down across from Reilly, who was looking much too calm. “You send the dog back with Abby’s dad and then she got snatched?”

“I don’t think she’s been snatched, Detective.” Reilly was beginning to look defensive. He’d seemed surprised when Ray pulled out his CPD badge, and very uncomfortable indeed when the notebook appeared. “Do you really need to write down this conversation?”

Ray looked at him, sharply. “Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”

“No, no.” Reilly backpedaled. “It’s just - isn’t all this unnecessary? I mean - isn’t it common for young girls to run away when something doesn’t go the way they like?”

“Abigail does not run,” I cut in. I realized as I said it that I wasn’t entirely speaking the truth. For a moment my heart quailed. This whole thing started when Abby ran from me in the snow. But - that wasn’t the same thing. Not at all. Abby wouldn’t have run, knowing how it would appear to Ray and me. She was not that manipulative. I continued, grimly. “She never has. I told you at least three times that she needed to be supervised or to have someone with her at all times until this case was solved. You ignored me. Now Charles Carver has kidnapped my daughter while she was on school property.”

“I’d never actually seen the man, Detective.” Even now, Reilly was avoiding me. He was addressing Ray, who, as a fellow American, he might have expected to be sympathetic to him. I could see from Ray’s stern profile that Reilly was wrong in his assumption. “How was I to know this was going to happen?”

“What, you think he’d lie about that?” Ray stood up and leaned over Reilly’s desk. His face was fierce. “Let me tell you something, Reilly. Fraser’s a Mountie; you think he’d lie about a predator, just to have the dog in the school?” He snorted and flicked his hand in a contemptuous gesture of dismissal. “Just because you’re unprofessional doesn’t mean he is.”

Reilly’s face showed a flash of temper. “I’m not unprofessional.”

“That’s how it looks to me,” Ray said. He shook his head and cleared his throat as I circled the room. “Now,” he continued. “Where did you last see Abigail?”

Oh Lord, Abby… It hit me again. If something happened to her I’d never forgive myself.

 _I’ll be right there with her._ I heard June’s voice again. _They’re close. Check Carver’s apartment._

“Ray…” I grabbed his arm. “Where does Carver live?”

“What?”

“Where does Carver live? We need to go right now.”

Ray didn’t even finish getting Reilly’s statement. He pointed a finger at the man instead. "You wait here for my colleagues. I'll be back." Then he turned on his heel, like Reilly wasn't important anymore, and stalked from the room. He hadn’t even asked me how I knew. He just suddenly understood that we needed to get there and get there quickly.

He looked at me sideways though, as we got into the Riv. “So, Benny,” he asked as he put it in gear. “How do you know someone might be at his apartment?”

ooOoo

I cannot explain to Ray how I know this, he’ll think I’m crazy, if he doesn’t already. Which is not to say that he would be wrong. I have long suspected that I am not entirely balanced. But, I can’t very well say that I’m hearing June’s voice; he doesn’t know who she is other than the brief snippets I’ve shared, and any talk of ghosts will further cement the idea that there’s something not quite right. I shake my head helplessly at his question, and he doesn’t push it.

The moment we get to Carver’s apartment building I can feel June’s presence. We must be close.

Ray has his own sudden moment of inexplicable insight. “You know,” he says, “wherever Abby is, I bet Helen Harris is with her.”

I startle. I had just been thinking the same thing. It’s as though somebody, or something, is shouting at us, trying to get the same point across.

If June is shouting at us, then Abby is in serious danger. Whatever Carver is capable of, I find myself praying that he hasn’t harmed either of them.

My poor Abigail. How could I have let this happen? She’s barely been in school a week and she’s kidnapped. I haven’t even had a chance to speak to Rebecca about Chicago. How can I tell her about this? Maybe Innusiq is right to despise me. I despise myself.

ooOoo

When I wake up, my head is killing me, my mouth is dry, and I’m sitting up, with my arms tied up behind me. Someone is crying. For a moment I think it’s me - then I realise it’s someone else. A woman from the sound of it. Helen Harris, I think - I heard Dad and Ray talk about her enough.

“Helen,” I whisper. “Don’t cry. That’s what he wants. We’ll be fine.”

That’s probably not true. Anyone else coming to consciousness and finding themselves tied up like this would despair. But I refuse to despair. Whatever else happens, I know that Dad will come for me. And -

“It’ll be okay.” I smile in the darkness, even though there’s not much to smile about.

I feel Mom.

ooOoo

I hear someone crying, pleading. The sound is echoing. Of course Carver wouldn’t be stupid enough to keep Abigail or Helen in his actual apartment, but maybe close enough so as not to arouse suspicion. It couldn’t be off the premises either, as someone would see him walking toward the same structure every day…

The basement. It has to be the basement.

 _I’m right here with her…_ I hear June’s voice in my head. _She’s okay, but Helen is in bad shape._

I hear another scream, and this time I know it’s Abby.

“This way, Ray,” I tell him, even though he’s not deaf and has already started running in the direction of the scream. We hurtle toward the basement door. I can feel my adrenaline pumping as I pull on the door, to no avail.

“Move out of the way, Benny….” Ray points his gun and shoots the lock. It gives. Ray and I kick the door simultaneously, and it bursts open. We run in as fast as we can.

“Abigail!” I shout, knowing that I might be running a risk of provoking Carver into more hostile action, but unable to stop myself. “Abigail, where are you?”

“Daddy?” she shouts back, this time in Inuktitut. Good, if she’s shouting for me, no matter what language, she’s alive, she’s coherent… Also, very very clever. Because this way Carver didn’t yet have the advantage of knowing who we were. “Daddy! Ray! We’re over here!” she’s sobbing in between her words. But she doesn’t sound scared; she sounds - angry.

The echoes are getting louder as Ray shouts for Miss Harris, who does not respond. But Abigail did say “ _We’re_ over here…”

I hear a blunt SMACK just as we round the last corner. The noise keeps punching the air, repeated and repeated. Abigail is tied to the radiator, using the back of her hand to pound the wall behind her. Miss Harris is lying on her side, gagged and her hands tied behind her back. They’re both shaking; as we get closer, Abigail’s eyes go wide.

“Behind you, Daddy!”

Ray had turned the opposite way, no doubt looking for Carver as I went in search of Abigail and Miss Harris. Turning, I see Carver poised over me with a knife in his hand. I throw my arms out in front of the two young women in front of me. He’s just about to strike when Ray appears, pulling him back, swinging him up against the wall. He lands several punches into Carver’s stomach and three in his face.

Carver falls, his face bloody, his eyes rolling back in his head.  

All of us are breathing heavily as I remove Miss Harris’ gag and help her sit up. I can only nod at Ray as he turns his radio on.

“Dispatch, this is Detective Vecchio. Requesting EMS at…” he rattles off Carver’s address. “We’ve found both Abigail Fraser and Helen Harris. Down in the basement; the lock’s been shot off.”

“Copy that, EMS en route.”

Still breathing heavily, I see Ray turning his head. “Light switch…”

It doesn’t take him long to find it, but he doesn’t turn it on right away.

“Lights are going on in 3… 2…”

The lights assault our senses just as Lieutenant Welsh, and Detectives Huey and Gardino pour into the basement, all wanting to know what happened and how did we know  they were here. Miss Harris is calm, maybe too calm - she seems to be in shock. But she answers all their questions as best she can; it isn’t long before EMS assesses her, wraps her in a blanket, and takes her out to the ambulance waiting outside. She’s extremely malnourished and dehydrated, and I have a feeling something else happened.

Ray and Detective Huey descend on Carver, roughly pulling him up and handcuffing him just as he regains consciousness. I feel Abigail squirm, her legs kicking out involuntarily as she sees him move.

“I want you to die, you pig,” she whispers under her breath as he’s led away. I won’t admonish her for saying such a thing, especially since she’s just been through a terrible ordeal. For now, though, Abigail has curled into me, murmuring in Inuktitut, in shock and shivering. I take off my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders. As I do, I look down and see that the skirt she’s wearing has been torn and there’s blood dried on the inside of her thigh.

Oh God. Oh God. Please, God. I’m babbling prayers to a God I will never forgive if Abby has been harmed. Oh, please don’t let it be so…

“He didn’t touch me…” I catch Abigail murmuring, as though she’s talking to someone else entirely. She’s staring straight ahead. In all honesty, I think she might be talking to June. I can still feel June’s presence in this basement. If Abigail can see her, that’s more than enough. “He tried, but my menarche started, and he jumped back in disgust.”

Thank God and all his holy saints.

“Helen stopped him, told him to leave me alone.” She’s still talking to June. I don’t know if she could have told a man, even her father - perhaps especially her father. June’s presence is for me as much as Abby - so that I can hear from our daughter’s lips, and be reassured. “She said, whatever he was going to do to me, to do to her instead…” she breaks into hysterical tears, hyperventilating.  “He….”

She can’t say anything else, clambers into my lap, twists her head around to hide her face against my chest, and sobs. My arms go around her. Oh God, Abby.

Ray comes back into the basement, having packed Carver off in handcuffs with Detective Huey and another officer.

“Fraser….” Ray squats down on his haunches, far enough away from Abigail that she hopefully doesn’t feel threatened. “Fraser, EMS needs to take a look at Abby.” I feel her tighten her hold on my shirt. His eyes flash down and catch the dried blood that so appalled me. I see him blanch, but can’t correct his misapprehension - not here, with Abby in my arms. His voice remains professional and calm though, as he says “think you can get her outside?”

Abigail screams, jarring us both. “No no no,” she’s dissolving into tears again. “Don’t let them take me, Daddy.”

Ray has a confused look on his face, before he realizes that she’s still speaking in Inuktitut.

I shake my head. “Not yet. Let her- let her feel safe first.” But it’s as much for me as it is for her. I need to hold her, to know that she’s alive.

“Abby…” Ray tries, getting to his knees in front of us. “Your dad has to get up so we can take you outside, okay?”

He’s speaking to her as though she’s five years old, but at this point, it may be exactly what she needs.

Ray holds out his hands. “Abby, sweetheart.” For all of his gruff and prickly exterior he is gentle when he needs to be, and I can see in his eyes that he would do anything to help Abby right now. “I need you to hold onto my hands so your Dad can get up, and when he does, you can go right back to him, okay?”

Something clicks, and Abby nods. Doing as Ray asks, I’m able to stand up. Less than 30 seconds later, I scoop my daughter up and carry her out to the EMS personnel waiting outside, Ray following close behind us.

Lieutenant Welsh is keeping everyone at a distance, as we make our way to the ambulance. I get in with Abby, and as she lays out on a stretcher, her breathing starts to normalize. She is still holding my hand, squeezing so hard that my metacarpals hurt. I never want her to let go. She could squeeze till they broke.

“I’m sorry Daddy,” she sobs.

“No, Abigail, this is not your fault,” I insist, sweeping her hair out of her face with my free hand. “You did everything right.”

“So tired,” she answers, this time in English.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She looks at me, utterly trusting, with her mother’s eyes. Her lids slide shut, and then her grip slackens. Between one blink and the next she is asleep, with me still holding her hand.

ooOoo

There is a whole chunk of time that I don’t want to think about right now - though I know that I will, when I’m not so tired, and I know that I won’t be afraid to look at it. That I’ll do whatever I can for Helen, who saved me. That I’ll do whatever I can to make sure that monster is locked up till he rots.

But right now, I don’t have to think about any of it. The panic and anger and pain lets go of me, once I’m out of that basement. I remember Ray holding my hands, I remember Dad picking me up and carrying me. I remember how tightly I held his hand, and I remember Mum standing right behind his shoulder, smiling at me.

And then, I just remember knowing that I was safe. And everything else stops mattering. I’ll deal with it in the morning.

For now, I just close my eyes, knowing that Dad will be there when I wake up, that everything will be okay.

I’m safe. I’m safe.

ooOoo

I’m still holding Abigail’s hand an hour later, when we’ve been checked into a hospital room. Both of us are exhausted. She looks tired, even in her sleep. I’ve laid my head on the edge of her bed, hoping for a few minutes of rest before the questions start.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, gently shaking me awake. Oh, please. Not now.

“Hey Benny…” It’s Ray’s voice. I can’t resent Ray, even though he is ruining my rest. He’s done so much for us. I turn my head on the mattress and smile up at him, blearily. “Benny,” his voice is low, so as not to disturb Abigail. “I just got word on Helen Harris. Carver didn’t sexually assault her,” he lowers his voice even further. “Apparently he couldn’t - uh - he couldn’t -” Ray makes a furtive gesture, which I can’t translate. “Couldn’t get it up. But he really worked her over. She’s lucky she’s not bleeding internally.”

I nod. “Is she up to visitors?”

“I think so, but only for a bit.”

“I want to thank her,” I explain, prying Abigail’s hand from mine as quietly as I could. Helen saved my daughter from a terrible fate, how do I thank her? How _could_ I thank her?

Ray led me to her hospital room, where I knocked on the door and waited.

“I’ll go sit with Abby in case she wakes up,” he offered.

I nodded, still waiting.

A few seconds later, I was greeted by an older woman clutching a handkerchief in her fingers.

“Can I help you?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Yes ma’am, my name is Benton Fraser, RCMP.”

“More police? Hasn’t my daughter been through enough?”

“Oh no… I didn’t mean… Mrs. Harris…”

Her brow crinkled. Something in my manner gave her pause, and she became less aggressive.

“Sylvia,”

“Sylvia, my apologies, but there seems to be a misunderstanding.” My brain was working too quickly, my thoughts racing through my head. “My daughter Abigail was found with Miss Harris. I simply…” my words caught in my throat. “I simply wanted to thank her.”

Sylvia blinked, as though she were just comprehending what I’d said.

“It’s okay, Mom, he can come in.” I heard her call from her bed.

I waited until Sylvia moved out of the doorway, allowing me to step inside.

Looking at Helen, I realized that Ray had not been exaggerating. Helen was covered in bruises, some very fresh, including a partially healed black eye and a cut over her eyebrow. Her lip was split and swollen. Her hands were cut and bandaged, as though she’d tried to fight back before Carver had tied her hands behind her back.

I approached her bedside, pointing to the chair.

She nodded, allowing me to sit.

“Miss Harris…”

“Helen.”

“Helen,” I repeated, nodding once. “My name is Benton Fraser, RCMP. I’m Abigail’s father.”

She turned her head on the pillow, staring at me through one good eye and allowing me to continue.

“I…” my throat clicked as I held my hands out, palms up. “I can’t thank you enough, for what you did for my daughter.”

“She told me she’s twelve,” Helen answered. “I couldn’t let him touch her. She didn’t deserve that. Not at twelve. Not ever.”

“Neither did you, and I am so sorry this happened to you,” I told her. “Is there anything that I can do to thank you?”

She turned to look at me, and stared me straight in the eyes.

“Lock him up.” she reached over and took my hand.  “Don’t let him do this to anyone else.”

I nodded, forcing myself to give her a tight smile. She could read it in my face, as I read it in hers. Neither one of us were going to let Carver off the hook. “He’ll never do it again,” I promised. No matter how good his defense, there was no doubt that he would be locked away for life. He had not just kidnapped Helen, he had not just kidnapped a child; he had not just beaten them and threatened rape - he had kidnapped the daughter of a policeman. The justice system would grant him no mercy. “I promise you.” My voice was dark in my ears. “He will never see the light of day.”

“Good.”

I smiled. Just as I went to get up, I felt her pull on my hand.

“Can I see Abigail?”

I looked over to Sylvia, who seemed at a loss.

“She’s not awake, but I will ask her when she is,” I assured her. “Thank you, Helen. Thank you for your courage. Thank you for saving my daughter.”

ooOoo

Someone is holding my hand as I swim to the surface. At least it feels like swimming. My head is all foggy and my mouth is dry, like I’ve swallowed cotton. I open my eyes and my vision is all blurry, and the person holding my hand isn’t Dad.

It’s not Dad, but it’s Ray, so I know I’m okay. I think.

“Daddy?” I managed, blinking.

“Hey Abby, your dad’s right here…” It had to be Ray, I recognized his voice. He let go of my hand and moved out of the way as I tried to sit up.

“Hi sweetheart,” Dad switched places with Ray and helped me sit up in the bed, gathering the pillows behind my head and back. “How are you feeling?”

“Um…” I ran my tongue around my mouth, still groggy. “Can I have some water?”

He reached over to the nightstand beside the bed and stuck a straw into a cup. He very gingerly helped me drink from it.

“Yuck, everything tastes like metal.”

“You probably bit your cheek,” he grabbed a sick tray and held it under my chin. “Swish some more water and spit.”

I did, and felt a stinging sensation on my lip and in the corner of my mouth too.

“Yeah I did. Eew.” I laid back down on the pillows and closed my eyes. “I feel really gross. When can I take a shower?”

“Once the doctor is sure you don’t have any further injuries,” Ray answers from across the room. “Is it okay if I come sit beside you?”

“Uh huh…” I nodded as Ray pulled up a chair. I’m very thankful that neither of them were going to push me for an explanation. Frankly, I was really angry. How could I have been so stupid as to get in Carver’s way? “Daddy, can I see Helen?”

“She asked if she could come see you, actually,” Dad smiled at me. “But you weren’t awake quite yet.”

“Oh okay,” my eyes felt really heavy, as though I hadn’t slept in over a week.  “I’d like to see her.” I blinked and shifted in the bed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten in his way.”

“What happened, baby girl?” Dad was being very gentle, although he must have been furious.

“I only left the class to go to the bathroom,” I insisted. “And then something hit me on the back of my neck, and when I woke up, I was in the basement and Helen was sitting beside me but she couldn’t move and then…”

“It’s alright, honey, you don’t have to tell us everything now…”

“But it’s my fault!”

“Abigail, I need you to listen to me very carefully,” Dad put his hand under my chin and made me turn my head to look at him. “It is not your fault. It is Charles Carver’s fault. He took you.”

“But I should have fought back more than I did. I kicked and screamed and tried to run away but he said he’d kill you if I struggled and I couldn’t let him hurt you, Daddy. I couldn’t…”

The whole thing was spilling out of her mouth, and I felt my heart break again. My poor girl.

“And then when we were in that basement I saw Mom. She said she’d tell you I was in trouble….”

Oh dear…

I look over at Ray, whose eyes have gone wide, as though he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Neither Abby nor I had mentioned her mother since the morning after the dinner disaster at Ray’s home, and that same night Abigail and I had put a provision in place:  that we would have to agree to discuss June before we said anything to anyone else. Of course, it’s only natural that precautions such as these might be disregarded in a moment of panic, and I was not going to stop her from saying what she needed to say.

“She did, Abigail,” I looked over at Ray as I took my daughter’s hand in mine.  “I heard her voice, just before Mr. Reilly called to tell me you hadn’t returned to class.”

“I felt her there the whole time…” Abigail was sputtering now, shaking. “She dropped things and made noise so he’d leave us alone. But he picked up a pipe and nearly hit me with it. That’s when Helen told him to leave me alone, and he beat her instead.”

Ray had a look of disbelief and rage on his face. Locking eyes with me, he nodded, as though asking if he could jump in the conversation.

“He didn’t do anything else, did he, Abby?”

“He wanted to…” and I knew I would hate this part. I’d hate knowing that my baby girl had been subjected to something so vile. “But then I got my period and he jumped away from me.”

Ray released a breath, as though he’d been holding it for too long.  He turned slightly in his chair, and I saw the bulge of the tape recorder in his coat pocket. I nodded. Hopefully, if he had her statement on tape, she wouldn’t have to testify. I also hoped that we wouldn’t need to explain anything about June quite yet. I knew that neither of us were ready.

“That’s good, Abby, you did real good,” Ray brought his hand up to his pocket and shut off the recorder. “I’m gonna leave you to get some rest. But if you need anything, you have your dad call me, okay?”

“Uh huh, thank you Ray.” God, her voice sounds so small. “Actually, can you please pick up Dief?”

“Sure thing, I’ll be back in half an hour.” When Ray nods and shuts the door behind him, Abigail finally gives up the fight, and falls asleep holding my hand.

As promised, Ray returned half an hour later with Diefenbaker on his heels, and right behind them was a young woman attached to an IV pole, and her mother walking close behind.

It was Helen.

“Hi Abby,” she greeted my daughter.

“Hi Helen,” and for the first time since we’d arrived, I saw Abigail’s lip tremble. She reached out her hand, and Ray moved from the chair so Helen could sit. Deciding it best to give the three ladies some privacy, Ray and I let them know we’d be just outside the door if they needed anything, and left.

ooOoo

“Hey, uh, Benny, how are you doing with all this?”

In truth, I’d never been so exhausted in all my life. My mind was racing with all the possibilities that could have happened had we not gotten there in time. One or both of the young women sitting in that hospital room could have been killed, and all because I’d taken a chance and hadn’t listened to my conscience, telling me that Abigail wouldn’t be safe until we’d caught Carver.

I leaned back and slid down the wall, unable to stand any longer. Sighing, I sat down and closed my eyes, hanging my head.

“I failed her, Ray,” I admitted.

“What?” it seemed as though he hadn’t heard me.

“I failed Abigail,” I repeated, speaking to the floor. “And not just her. I failed her mother and her grandmother when I brought her here and she was kidnapped.”

 _No you didn’t,_ I heard June’s voice in my ear again. I looked up and stared across the hall from us. There she was, standing in her sweatshirt and jeans, the same sweatshirt and jeans she’d worn when the picture from around the campfire was taken. _You found her, Benton, as any father who loves his daughter would. You have done everything you can to provide for our girl, and for that, I couldn’t be more thankful. You did not fail me._

I twisted my wedding ring around my finger, suddenly more aware of its weight than ever before.

“Hey, uh…” Ray’s eyes followed mine, and for a moment I thought he saw June. No, his gaze slid past her. Perhaps he noticed my fidgeting. I frowned. That didn’t feel right, but I couldn’t ask him about it. It felt, all of a sudden, that I was close to his own line in the sand. “What’s Abby’s mom’s name?”

My throat clicked as I swallowed. “June.”

He nodded. “You know,” he looked embarrassed, and fixed his eyes on the wall. “When my Nonna died I -” he laughed. “At least you won’t think I’m crazy. I, uh - I maybe spoke to her a few times.”

“Ah.” I had been so worried that Ray would think I was crazy that it had never dawned on me that other people have their ghosts too.

He laughed again. “I just hope if Pop dies before I do, he won’t haunt me.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway.” He smiled at me, an open unforced smile. “June,” he said. “That’s a pretty name. A summer name. Must be why Abby’s such a warm person.”

I felt my own face break into a smile. “June,” I said again. And as I said her name aloud, I couldn’t help wondering how long it had been since I’d actually done so.

“And, uh… how long were you married?”

“Nearly seven months.” I ducked my head. I trusted Ray now, as I had never trusted anyone in my adult life, but he was getting dangerously close to my line in the sand again. If he asked me anything else, I’d be walking back into Abigail’s room and locking the door. “I wanted to do the right thing.”

“Sounds like you did…” Ray nodded. “You know, uh… Abby getting kidnapped, it’s not your fault.”

“I know that, Ray…”I stared straight ahead at the spot on the wall where June had been standing. “But Abigail blames herself, when she did nothing but go to the washroom. She couldn’t have predicted that he’d snatch her at that point.”

“You’re right, and as you told her, you shouldn’t blame yourself either,” he had a hand on my arm, squeezing gently. “You did right.”

I nodded, as though the phrase ‘you did right’ held some sort of meaning.

Ray squeezed my arm again just as a shorter woman with dark hair came around the corner with a bag I could only assume held leftovers. As Ray had told us, no one wants to eat hospital food.

“Hi Angie,” Ray smiled at her and kissed her cheek. “Don’t know if you remember him, but this is Benny.”

“Nice to meet you again,” she greeted me as I shook her hand. Now that I saw her again, I could see a warm and humourous intelligence in her eyes, although her gaze was serious. It was obvious what my friend saw in her. “Ray told me your daughter was with Carver when you found Helen Harris. Is she alright?”

“Well,” I looked over my shoulder briefly and peeked back into the room, where Abigail and Helen looked to be bonding over literature. Sylvia had brought Helen a copy of _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_ , judging from the cover. I’d read that to Abigail when she was six. “She’s shaken up, and in a lot of pain, but luckily nothing’s broken.”

Angie nodded. “Listen, Ray asked me to bring over some dinner for everyone.  We all know that no one likes eating hospital food. I’ll just drop this off and head back...”

“You don’t need to do that, Angie, you’re more than welcome to stay.” I answered. “I’m sure Abigail would like to see you again.” Maybe this time they’d actually be able to talk; without a thousand Vecchio’s around the table Angie stood a chance of getting a word in edgewise.

I saw Angie smile quickly. “Thank you, I’d like that too.”

Abigail’s room had gone quiet with whispered murmurings about Captain Nemo and his motivations, so I thought now would be a good time to knock.

“Hello ladies. Detective Vecchio and his wife Angie have brought us some dinner. Sylvia, Helen, would you care to join us?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Helen answered as the seven of us all maneuvered our way into the room. “I wish I didn’t have this IV in still, then we could all have a picnic on the floor.”

“We can still have a picnic,” Abigail piped up, moving the book to her bedside table and pushing her tray out of the way. There was a spark of her personality coming back, but I knew it would be a long time before she’d recover fully. “Here, Helen, you stay in the chair…”

I watched in silence as Abigail pulled the blanket off her bed and spread it out on the floor. “I’m okay to sit on the blanket, I’ll just sit on a pillow too.”

She seemed to have everything figured out as Ray, Sylvia, Angie, and I all joined her on the floor, Helen sitting in the chair. Once we were settled, Angie opened up the cooler she’d brought.

“It’s from Ray’s mother,” she insisted. “I’m a pretty good cook,” she flashed a smile. “It’s an entry requirement into the Vecchio clan. But nobody can cook like her. And she put this together in an hour.”

Mrs. Vecchio had packed fruit, vegetables, fresh bread, fresh mozzarella, some olives, and a few thermoses of minestrone soup. She’d also sent chilled water and juices. I’d have to remember to send her a thank you card.

We were all quiet for a few minutes as we ate. Abby cradled her styrofoam cup of soup and closed her eyes as she sipped it. Neither Helen nor Abigail had much of an appetite, but they did seem to appreciate the soup. It was no reflection on Mrs. Vecchio’s minestrone recipe that they couldn’t finish it. I was not surprised by Helen’s lack of appetite; she had been missing for about three weeks, and it didn’t look like she’d been fed much during that time. And Abigail wasn’t a big eater to begin with. June had been the same way.

I saw Abigail put a hand on her own shoulder, wordlessly mouthing _I know_.

ooOoo

Dad was looking at me strangely. I felt someone put their hand on my shoulder, but when I turned away, there was no one behind me. The only conclusion I could come up with was that Mom was in the room too.

“Hi Mom,” I whispered.

But apparently I’d whispered loudly.

“Abigail,” Helen took a drink of her water. “I didn’t want to scare you, but, when we were down there, I thought I saw a woman who looked like you.”

“You did?”

“I think so,” Helen continued. She looked a little shaky, so I sent Dief over to her, who laid his head in her lap. “Her hair looked a bit darker though, and she didn’t say anything. To be honest -” she sounded doubtful. “Well, I suppose I’m not all the way better yet. If anything, I thought she might have been a ghost.”

“Um, maybe,” I didn’t quite know what to say.

“Is it okay if I ask, was she your Mom?”

I looked at Dad, and surprisingly, this time, the question didn’t upset me. Normally, people pushing about Mom upset me so much I felt sick. But Helen wasn't being intrusive. It felt like she had the right to ask - and if Mom had chosen to appear to her...

“Yes,” I answered, and suddenly it felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. “I know what she looked like, but nothing else, really. She died when I was born.”

I looked around and everyone was gravely quiet. My entire body suddenly felt like a screw that had been wound too tightly. In all honesty, I think it was the first time I’d ever actually said the phrase ‘my mother died when I was born,’ out loud.

“Benny?” I heard Ray ask. Perhaps Dad looked a little bit sick. I understood now that he still blamed himself for what happened to Mom. Hell, I blamed myself and I was just a baby at the time. For the first time it hit me that Dad hadn’t been much more than a baby himself.

“It’s okay, Dad, you can tell them,” I whispered.

Dad cleared his throat and started.

“Well, as you know, Ray,” I guess it was easier for Dad to speak directly to Ray, and everyone else would just have to listen. Four people was a big crowd, it seemed. “I was a young father.”

“You were sixteen, right?”

“Sixteen years and six months,” he answered. “Abigail’s mother, June, and I were both fifteen when we found out she was with child.”

Dad always had a way of starting things out very formally, especially when we were talking about something that he found really uncomfortable.

“Once we told her parents, I was forbidden to see and speak to her for nearly six weeks,” I saw Dad’s throat click. “It took my father years to forgive me. He didn’t even meet Abigail until she was nearly three years old.”

Ray looked scandalized. “When I see your father I’m gonna have words,” he said, all American bluster and Italian outrage. “Abby is famiglia, how could he turn his back on her -?”

“That’s not important,” Dad broke in, trying to continue his story before Ray’s anger caused him to derail and lose his courage.

“Of course it’s important!” Without seeming to notice what he was doing, Ray’s hand snuck out and seized that of Angie - Angie looked startled, then her face softened, and I could see her squeezing Ray’s hand back. “Family’s the most important thing in the world -” Ray blinked and looked at me. For a minute it looked almost like he would cry, but then he blinked again and looked angry. He was shoulder to shoulder with Angie though - I don’t even know if Ray knew he was doing it.

“Yes,” Dad interjected. “Of course it is important. I knew that, and so did he in the end.” Dad closed his eyes and hissed in a long breath before continuing. I leaned into his side and he put his arm around me. “I wanted to do the right thing,” he confessed, “so I asked June to marry me, and a month later, she accepted and we did.”

“You, uh…” Ray cleared his throat, clearly a bit stunned at this information. “You said you were married for nearly seven months? Where did you live?”

“I moved into June’s home with her parents and her brother,” Dad was being very formal, but it didn’t look like he was hurting as badly. “And we were told that if we wanted to proceed with the pregnancy, despite everyone’s objections, our ages, what have you, we were going to have to be extremely careful, as June was Inuit, and I am not. I don’t know the exact science behind it, but it was something to do with the Rh factors in our blood.” That shocked me. Dad, who read everything, not checking up on a scientific fact. It must have hurt too much for him to even try to find out what the problem had been exactly.

“Forgive me, but, wouldn’t the fact that you and June married have been looked down upon?” Helen’s mother Sylvia asked. She’d been so quiet I’d nearly forgotten she was there.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Sylvia, as it was,” Dad assured her. “Everyone was against it, and when June died, I lost almost everything. My wife, my family, my home… it wasn’t until I held Abigail in my arms, and her grandmother took pity on me, that I realized what I needed to do.”

“How did she die?” Angie asked, not unkindly.

And when Dad explained it, I started to understand why he blamed himself for so long. It wasn’t that I’d been born that he lost her, it was an accident. Mom had had a very long and hard labour, and she’d hemorrhaged, and unfortunately, even though the midwife and the doctor had tried everything to save her, her body simply couldn’t recover. And I knew he still loved her, that’s why he’d never remarried.

“So the point of all this,” Dad took a deep breath. He looked like he’d run a marathon. “The point is that when you find someone, someone who loves you so deeply that they’re willing to do whatever is necessary to make it work, don’t let them go.” Dad was looking at his lap, but I could tell there was significance in what he was saying.

There was significance in the look that Ray and Angie gave each other too. I’d always wondered why Ray had rarely spoken about her, except for that time when Ray came to our apartment and they thought I wasn’t listening. Now I could see why. Ray had been working on trying to find Carver for a long time, and I think it was taking a toll on Angie, and their marriage.

But it was obvious, in that brief look they shared, and the way their hands tightened together, that they loved each other. Maybe they’d needed to hear Mom and Dad’s story, so they’d realize how lucky they were to have what they had.

“And you still wear your ring?” Angie’s voice was very gentle.

I saw Dad twist it on his finger. “And I have June’s on a chain around my neck as well.” He untucked the chain from the collar of his shirt and let it hang.

“Do you have a picture?” Helen asked. “Since you speak so highly of her, I’m really beginning to wonder if I really did see her.”

Dad had never said anything about keeping a photo of Mom in his wallet, even though I knew he had one of me. The only photo I knew he had of her was the one we now had on the table beside the couch.

“Unfortunately, not here with me,”  Dad shook his head as he bit into a grape. “But if you could describe exactly what or whom you saw, that might help.”

And as she did, I paid very close attention to what she was saying.

Helen described Mom perfectly. If I didn’t already believe in supernatural occurrences, hearing Helen talk about this would certainly have been enough to change my opinion.

“Sounds like your mom is your guardian angel.” Ray smiled, still holding Angie’s hand.

“Yes,” I agreed, smiling back at Dad, who looked as though a weight had also been lifted off his shoulders. “I think she is.”

ooOoo

Spring into summer and then summer into fall passed peacefully. After the drama of our our first few weeks it took us a while to believe that it was all over, but the machinery of justice and time itself was on our side.Once Abby and Helen had been found safe, the school board had launched a full investigation into Keith Reilly’s actions, determined to understand how Abby had fallen into Carver’s hands while on school property.

As it turned out, Reilly had had no idea what Carver even looked like. God knows, he should have done. I’d left the man a picture. His negligence in this matter did not make him look good to the board - nor did his blustering attempts to justify himself. According to school employee records, Carver was on their payroll under an assumed name, as Henry Barrowman. He’d started work there the very day that Abby started, employed as an outdoor maintenance worker, which was how he’d been able to gain access to the school. If Reilly had cared to even glance at the photograph I’d shown him he would have known who he was immediately.

Now that Carver was in custody, I’d brought a formal complaint to the school board, detailing Reilly’s unprofessional practices in regard to Abigail. And it seemed I was not the only parent to have raised objections. Most of the complaints, Ray said as he did further research, had been about grades and unequal punishment for the same crime,  along with fabrications on students’ permanent records; strangely enough, none of the children targeted were Caucasian. Plus, the fact that a student had been kidnapped had been enough to get the man fired and blacklisted from ever holding another position in a school setting again.

Thank God for small mercies.

Once the school term ended, Rebecca had called to tell us she wanted to visit. Neither Abigail nor I had any objections, so, I’d gotten my mother-in-law a plane ticket and enlisted Ray’s help (meaning, his car) to pick her up. Ray, not being one to let his car out of his sight, insisted he drive.

Now, as we wait at the airport for Rebecca to come down the escalator, Abigail is fidgety with excitement.

“Dad, what time did you say Grandmother’s plane gets in?”

“It just landed, Abby. It’ll be a few minutes before we actually see her.”

Of course, just as I said that, I saw my mother-in-law come around the corner and down the escalator.

Abigail forced herself to stay in one place as the older Inuit woman came toward us, bag in hand. Once she approached us, she set the bag down and swept Abigail into her arms with a force I didn’t know she possessed.

“Hello my beautiful girl,” Rebecca greeted her granddaughter in Inuktitut. “You’ve grown! My goodness!” she set Abigail back on the ground and patted her cheek. “Now, tell me, where is your father?”

Abigail turned and beckoned me over. I hadn’t wanted to intrude on a moment that meant so much to both of them.

“Benton Fraser, you haven’t changed at all,” she playfully scolded me and went up on her toes to kiss my cheek.

“Hello Rebecca,” I smiled, holding her close. “How was your flight?”

“Time enough for that, later. The first thing I’d like to do is get out of the airport and have a rest. Old bones, you know.”

“Oh hush,” I playfully admonished, letting her go and offering her my arm. “May I?”

She smiled. “Certainly.” She started the walk toward the exit, Abigail right beside us, having picked up her grandmother’s bag. We were soon joined by Ray, who had pulled the car around to the pickup and drop off area.

“Ray, I’d like you to meet my mother-in-law, Rebecca Amaruq. Rebecca, this is my partner, Detective Ray Vecchio.”

“Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Amaruq,” he stumbled a little on the pronunciation, but Rebecca didn’t seem to notice.

“And you, Detective Vecchio. I’ve heard many things about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” he chuckled, extending his hand.

“Ray, could you please open the trunk?” Abigail asked as he did so, as though he’d been anticipating her question. “Okay,” she smiled brightly as her grandmother’s luggage slid in the back. “All in.”

“Alright, everyone in the car,” Ray moved the front passenger seat forward, allowing Abigail and I access to the back seat, while Rebecca sat in the front. Once we were all in and ready to go, I realized something as we drove back to our apartment.

I’d first come to Chicago at my daughter’s insistence; almost seven months later, despite a rough start, she has flourished. While I have no doubt that one day, we will return to Fort Norman, for now, as I listen to Rebecca, Abigail, and Ray talk to each other, I think we’ll stay.


End file.
